Convergence II: Saving Seth
by SpadesJade
Summary: Two girls, twins, one an excon, the other an heiress. Recently reunited, they go looking for the Geckos in Mexico. Why? Guest Starring Agent Sands from Once Upon A Time In Mexico, Blackheart from Ghostrider, & Alex Tully from Drive! Because I said so...
1. Myth

Disclaimer: Seth, El Ray, Santanica Pandemonium are owned by Tarantino and Rodriguez. Sands is owned by Rodriguez, and Blackheart is owned by…who owns Blackheart again? Dunno, but it isn't me. I do own Xanny, Augusta and Marcos. And that's it.

REDONE! Some (most) of this chapter you'll recognize. It's been a long time since I've been able to really dig my teeth back into this story, and I'll tell you why. I always knew, always planned, that it would directly tie into the events from the movie, and that somehow, some kind of "Vampire King" would want to get revenge on Seth because he killed Satanica Pandemonium. But who exactly that vampie monarch was, I had no idea, and I couldn't launch the story without him. And then I came across Ghost Rider and the very lovely Wes Bentley, so now it all falls into place.

It's been so long, I honestly don't know if anyone cares anymore. But people are still adding to the FDTD section, so if you old readers are out there anywhere, please let me know what you think.

A/N: The following information was gleaned (and some of it blatantly stolen) from the DVD commentary from the movie FDTD, about what El Ray actually was, and an analysis of the last scene of the movie. It was rather enlightening.

One: Myth

There was a certain mythology around the life of a bank robber. They were glamorous creatures, slick and mysterious, almost like movie stars, bigger than life. They dominated everyone in their path, and then, one day, when they decided they were done, they made one big last score and retired, usually to Mexico, occasionally to Canada, although that was a less glamorous idea, to live what was known as "the good life."

This was not true. Seth had known for some time that this wasn't true. Yet he clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe, he and Ritchie would be different.

He and Ritchie had been more different than just about anyone. They were a team, they worked together as one single unit, they existed as the right and left arm of a single body. They complimented each other in such an extreme way, it was like they were two halves of a single person. Now, more than ever, Seth appreciated his brother. He had always loved him, but now, he knew he would follow him to the ninth ring of hell, come what may. Ritchie was officially the last person on earth, besides himself, that he cared about.

So maybe, the two of them would be able to work something out. They would be able to survive anywhere, always watching each other's back, always looking out for the other, keeping each other going.

Because Mexico was not the bank robber's paradise that the legends wanted the world to believe. Especially not where Seth and Ritchie were going to go. They were going to El Ray.

And El Ray was hell.

When people pictured Mexico, there were certain pre-conceived stereotypes that popped up inside their heads. Either it was the rich and glamorous, ocean-side resorts of the wealthy and tourists, or it was the wild jungles and run down towns embedded in dirt poverty that most movies always had their criminals roaming through. This wasn't always true---stereotypes did not exist without a basis in reality, a strong basis, but they were not without exception. There were places where people could make good lives for themselves, raise families, live like comfortable human beings.

El Ray was not one of those places. El Ray was literally hell on earth. It was dirty, decaying, filled with the worst kind of specimens humanity had to offer, and it existed for one purpose---to keep criminals out of American prisons. It did not offer any kind of "good life."

To get in to El Ray, like in Greek myth, you had to pay the ferryman---in this case, Carlos. You had to pay him thirty percent of your loot. _Scripture, so let it be written, so let it be done_. Actually, that was a line from the _Ten Commandments_---awesome movie, even though Seth didn't care so much for religious films. He really got off on the big splashes of violence and depravity---slaves being crushed under stone blocks, being whipped to death, being used as prostitutes and then casually murdered if they even so much as made a peep of objection. The orgy as the people worshipped the golden calf---that was a great scene. And Yul Brenner was possibly his favorite actor on the planet. One of the reasons he didn't smoke, though---cigarettes had taken Brenner away, and they weren't going to get Seth, too.

Back to the point---El Ray was hell, and that was where they had to go if they didn't want to die at the hands of the law. But once you got into El Ray, you didn't get out. You lived off your money, whatever you had, and when it ran out, you didn't get to go running out and steal some more. You just…stayed. In El Ray. Forever. And you rotted away, either crushed under the boot-heels of the stronger who came after you, or died of neglect and starvation, or were killed by someone else just as desperate and pathetic as you, trying to survive.

Seth didn't like to think about it. He told himself that with Ritchie, the crazy psychopath, the fucking nut---although he'd never say it to his face---he would survive. Ritchie could and would do anything. Together, they would survive. When their money was gone, they would leave, or maybe even stay and pick off the thieves who came in, loaded with their cash, take what they had, live it up all over again. It did not seem like such a bad existence. And maybe Ritchie could find some peace there.

Seth had believed it. Maybe he still did, somewhere. It didn't matter, though. Ritchie was dead.

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Two weeks. That was how long she'd been on this road. On the back of a very expensive Harley, with only the bare essentials. But with her money, she could afford to buy a new designer outfit one day, and toss it out like garbage the next.

Where this was going, Alexandra Baxton wasn't quite sure. But she was a lot less confused now than she had been two weeks ago. At least, on most days. Every now and again, Augusta would dress her up and drag her out on the town, back to the world of the rich and famous, and Xanny would spend most of her evening watching everything around her and wait for someone to come up to her and throw her out.

Her entire life had been spent in the gutter, compared to the glamour of Augusta's world. And she had tried very hard over the last six months to take the gutter out of herself. Dressing, walking, eating with the right utensils…it felt so pointless. More important to her had not been going stark raving crazy over the money and the luxury it afforded.

One of the most important lessons that Xanny had learned over the last six months was that there were several kinds of rich people in the world. First, there were the kind who flaunted their money, ran from the paparazzi, and generally made public embarrassments of themselves. In the second category were people who were so unbearably rich that they couldn't help but be noticed, even though they reacted by trying to hide themselves, and occasionally succeeded. Then there was the third kind of rich person -- the person who was so rich, they could be _completely unnoticed_. The kind of person who was so formidable, it was better for the rest of the world to just pretend they didn't exist -- like a sleeping dragon, the press tip-toed around them so as never to wake them.

The Baxtons strove not to be the first, longed to be the third, but most usually ended up the second. And with the Baxton twins reunited after an entire lifetime of separation, the press couldn't help but converge on the story like a lion pack on a felled gazelle.

Six months. She wouldn't have survived the first one if not for the fact that Augusta had supported her every step of the way. Family was family and the press could go to hell, had become the mantra of the house. She had deployed bodyguards to rival Tom Cruise to keep the paparazzi out of their yard and out of their face. Going out in public had been unthinkable that first month, and Xanny was grateful for it. But more important than any of that had been Marcos.

_Stupid, _stupid_ Marcos,_ Xanny thought as she crushed what was left of her cigarette beneath her boot-heel. Then, remembering herself, she picked up the butt and disposed it into the trashcan.

"Ready to go?" came Augusta's voice at her elbow. Xanny glanced at her. It had been weird, at first, seeing her dressed in biker's gear. But leave it to Augusta to make it look fashionable. Of course, Gus insisted that motorcycle fashions were classic and never went out of style, and that Xanny had never once looked shabby when she was in leather chaps and a plain, unlabeled jacket. Augusta, however, went with a more racer-type image, with white lines accentuating the cut of her jacket, and her chaps a mottled black and white.

"Anytime," Xanny agreed. "Where are we again?"

Augusta sighed, but she was smiling as they walked out the high arch of the hotel's front entrance. On the other side of the sheltered drive stood their motorcycles, freshly polished and completely dirt free from the previous day's ride. "I told you we should have made a more comprehensive plan," Augusta said.

"No, no way," Xanny said, slipping her helmet over her head. "Bad enough I let you buy these stupid helmets with walkie-talkies in them, but it's against the biker creed to plan out a schedule. You go where the road takes you, when it takes you."

"Yes, well, the road took us into North Carolina last night," Augusta replied, her voice sounding just a touch haughty, even more so when she added, "and it's _communications gear_, not a _walkie-talkie_, heaven's sake, girl…Raleigh, to be specific."

"What, the communications gear?" Xanny asked.

"No, the city we're in." Augusta rolled her eyes at Xanny's smirk. "One of the most beautiful cities in the world. I'm seriously considering buying a house out here."

"What's stopping you?" Xanny asked, wondering how Augusta could ever hesitate to just buy whatever she wanted.

"Hurricane season," Augusta replied, and they revved up and were off.

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They took their time getting out of North Carolina. It was every bit as beautiful as Augusta said, and Xanny found herself getting lost in it. She had always loved biking, and had likened it to flying on multiple occasions. Getting lost in the world, becoming part of the airstream, having nothing separating you from the outdoors except a very thick cow's hide, and yet moving as fast as you wanted to. Which was even easier now that paying speeding tickets was as much an obstacle to her as buying a postage stamp.

The main problem, though, that all this beauty afforded her time to think. And her brain seemed to have a will of its own on choosing the topic. It was always Marcos.

Stupid, _stupid_ Marcos. She loved him. He just…couldn't deal with the consequences of loving her back.

It stung, every time she thought of it. If she thought about it too suddenly, it would cause the muscles in her hands to clench, and on the handles of the bike it affected her ride. She always had to check herself and make sure she hadn't left Augusta behind in the dirt – although that had only happened once, Augusta wasn't going to let her forget it, nor forgive her if it happened again.

Marcos. It felt like a lifetime since they'd sat on that couch on that hotel room, like two normal people, having a normal conversation. Getting to see what was inside, as people do. Especially people who were beginning to fall in love. She'd been foolish enough to think of it that way. The planted seed that had spouted into bloom.

Augusta had tried to make things go as smooth as possible, but this seemed to be something even her magic touch couldn't fix. She was the one who convinced Marcos that it was more important to act on his feelings than to worry about being scandalous, and she who had convinced Xanny that no, the man was not "too good" for her and that she should just stop hesitating and just relax. And for a few months, it had seemed to be the right course. The sails were out, the winds were blowing, and the sea was calm.

Of course, Ferarre was also a very important name, and Marcos almost succeeded in getting his family into that third category of rich, except that he was much too good in his business world, and was a worker, not the kind of man to spend days on end lounging beside a pool or playing game after endless game of golf. Although he did enjoy those things, moreso when he was sharing them with Xanny. She even got him to grow his hair out just long enough so that it curled in soft, loose waves around his head. She adored threading her fingers through it, and he was more than willing to please.

But the press had teeth. They were pissed at how well Augusta was running the gauntlet around them, and being unable to get a real story, they went with the next best thing: one made up from a mixture of gossip, with just enough facts thrown in to be dangerous. The talk of the broken engagement between Marcos and Augusta had been concerned, then caustic. What was the new heir trying to pull? Was she trying to steal everything from her twin? But no, the two sisters had bonded deeper than anyone could realize, and someone wanted to write a book about their adventure on the road with the Gecko brothers, how Augusta had been rescued by her long lost sister. But there was another stink, a huge one: could the whole thing have possibly been a set-up to get Xanny into their lives? She had a criminal record. She was heavily linked to Seth Gecko. She was an object of suspicion.

And with suspicion came more scandal.

They tried to ignore it. Underneath the layers of expensive suits and lush surroundings, Marcos was a very un-snobby man, content to disguise himself in sneakers and T-shirts and stroll through the Taste of Chicago booths holding hands in baseball caps and sunglasses. They got close, and quickly. But over the proceeding months, it became clear that closeness had consequences.

The backlash started light – the boys in the club could appreciate him having fun, after all, Augusta had dumped him and Alexandra had the exact same face. They slapped him on the back and teased him, but when Marcos didn't return the camaraderie with raunchy stories and assurances that yes, she was just a fun piece of ass, why shouldn't he get something out of the years he'd invested in Augusta? – after a while, when it became clear that Xanny was not a rebound fling, their voices few colder, the invites to dinner grew less frequent.

Stocks started to fall. Only slightly, and Marcos knew his craft, and his more important associates were much too smart to let some stupid strutting in a country club drive their investments. Money was money and there was a very good reason Marcos had a lot of it. First it started as he simply needed to work more and play less, show his mettle was still the same, and stocks went back up, the world assured that Marcos Ferarre had not lost his smarts along with his heart.

By the end of the third month, the rumors had had time to sink in deep, and his face appeared on more and more covers of rag magazines. The talk show hosts had their fun, until it became a running joke…and the joke was going to run a marathon. It was turning from a slight to a smear across his public image, and it was hurting more than just his business. The shockwaves rippled – invites to important dinners went first, as no one wanted to risk Marcos bringing his eccentric girlfriend of questionable honor into their homes. Then the stocks started to slip and when he went to raise them up again, it was harder to get people on the phone, and he wound up cashing in favors to accomplish simple matters of business.

They had talked about getting serious. They had talked about things like marriage and children. They had discussed sleeping together, but Marcos hesitated, put off by all the unruly talk. It wasn't so much that Xanny wanted to – when it came to sex, it was "been there, done that," – but Marcos' reasons were not the right ones. He wouldn't even talk to the press about his personal relationships, and yet he was letting them scare him away from a deeper intimacy with a woman he was supposed to love? He had never come out and directly admitted to being with her, either. And then, by the fourth month, he was telling her that they needed to wait a while before they got very serious, let things blow over.

In the fifth month, he retreated completely into his business world, trying like hell to keep his head down and his stocks up, trying not to let stupid gossip destroy what he had worked so hard to build. They talked less, and when they did, it was nowhere near the level it had been before. And finally, when he was starting to make things right again with his public image, and he'd been interviewed for a magazine, he had said, flat out, that he and Xanny were not involved.

That was enough.

It amazed Xanny, how peaceful her criminal life had been, compared to this. The only difference between the rich and people like her was that she was ducking the law and he was ducking the rest of the world. She didn't care what anyone thought, she never had. She had long since given up caring about the rest of world, knowing it was enough to have her peace with herself and God and that was all she could ask for. But to have someone she'd let into her heart suddenly impose all those things on her, let those things measure his affection for her, let it determine the extent of his commitment to her...it was too much. She hadn't realized Marcos' weakness, the depth of it.

Two weeks ago, the drive across the country had sounded like the best idea in the world. She hadn't told him she was going. She didn't care if he knew or not. She didn't want him to come chasing after her – although it hurt her more to think that he _wouldn't_. She hadn't even called him on the magazine. The thought of going to him and showing him what he'd said – she hadn't even _known_ about it until it was published, as the interview was done two weeks before the magazine had even come out and he _hadn't said a single word about it_—just felt like too much drama for her. The possibility of him denying it or excusing it felt belittling, and the possibility of him confirming it felt devastating. So now it was six months since she'd become a Baxton and already she had the scars to prove it.

Or maybe the scars to make her wish she wasn't.


	2. Blackheart

Disclaimer: Seth, El Ray, Santanica Pandemonium are owned by Tarantino and Rodriguez. Sands is owned by Rodriguez, and Blackheart is owned by…who owns Blackheart again? Dunno, but it isn't me. I do own Xanny, Augusta and Marcos. And that's it.

A/N: More stuff you'll recognize. But a new addition at the end. 

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Two: Blackheart

"I'm not sure," Xanny said. "That's pretty steep. And it's dark."

"What, you're afraid?"

"The San Gabriel Pass isn't exactly the kind of thing you want to cross at night on a motorcycle," Xanny pointed out. "Especially if you've never done it before."

"And you haven't?"

"I've never been this far. I just know about it from talking to other bikers."

"Don't tell me this rich living is making you soft."

Xanny tossed her twin a sharp look. Apart from the color of their hair, every other single feature was identical, from the shape of their lips to the shade of their eyes. Augusta's hair was a platinum blonde, almost white in the desert sun. Xanny's hair had long since lost its blue, it having faded out in the previous months, and she just hadn't felt the urge to re-dye it, although she did miss it. Missed it even more now that her hair was this dull, dark, nondescript shade of brownish-blonde.

"Fine. Stay close, but not too close, I don't want you knocking into me and sending me over the guardrail."

Another few days had passed. From North Carolina, they had wound up going into Okalahoma, which wasn't terribly interesting to Augusta, but that Xanny had rather enjoyed. At Augusta's insistence, they had moved farther west, a few states over until they were in Arizona, and at a hotel that met Augusta's posh standards.

That second night, at dinner, Xanny had finally brought up the secondary subject on her mind. "We're going into Mexico before we head North, aren't we?" Although she'd only known her for six months, Xanny was possibly the only person on the planet who could read Augusta perfectly. It must come from being genetically attached to her, Xanny reasoned, as so many others complained that the woman was generally aloof, unreadable, and usually cold.

Augusta's eyes widened a bit. Knowing that Xanny knew her meant she didn't need her walls, which just made things easier. Still, it wasn't an easy thing to admit.

"Well, only if you want to," she said, twisting her platinum hair around a finger.

Xanny rolled her eyes. She'd seen the news, months ago. Sometimes it felt like just yesterday she'd turned on the television to hear about how the Gecko brothers had managed to flee into Mexico, about the bloody hell they'd left in their wake, how Ritchie had busted Seth out of jail, how they'd robbed a bank, taken a hostage, and never been caught. That didn't surprise her, none of it did. She was nearly relieved to hear that they were alive and kicking, not so much because she cared about the Geckos, but because of Augusta.

Because Augusta was in love with Seth.

A normal sister would probably have put up more of a fight to change the woman's mind, but Xanny knew too well how charming Seth could be. She'd known Seth for a lot of years, done things with him that could fill the dirtiest of porn magazines, filled up her rap sheet with his right beside her, and generally had let her life run to complete hell, keeping up with him. If it hadn't been for her "moment of clarity," as she called it, seeing the horrors and sickness that Ritchie Gecko was capable of, which had led to a serious falling out, emotionally and physically, she would still be running with him today.

She knew Seth was very good between the sheets. Still, she thought more of her sister than that. She'd seen the emotional attachment that Seth had seemed to form for her sister, and knew that more had happened in those days of hopping hotel rooms and evading police than Augusta had yet admitted. Which was fine, Xanny didn't need details, everyone was entitled to their secrets and privacy. Especially herself, she thought ruefully.

"You want to look for him," Xanny said, even quieter, as the waiter appeared. In reply, Augusta leaned back, flashed a smile at the waiter, and quickly placed their order.

"Eight ounce mignon for me, rare to medium, and she'll have the seafood alfredo, light on the sauce. Bring more bread and keep the drinks flowing." She sat back up again, fixing her sister with a stare.

"I don't want to do anything to upset you," she said after a pause. "I wasn't going to mention it until we were closer--"

"And you had a better chance at me saying yes," Xanny supplied.

"Oh, come on," Augusta said, reaching for her hand, a gesture rather uncommon for her when it came to others, but easy when it came to Xanny. She was used to being the one who had to be coaxed and convinced, and it was rather fun, at times, to have to do both to get Xanny to give on the littlest things.

Okay, so this wasn't little.

"I thought we'd just make sure he was okay, you know?" Augusta went on, eyes quickly scanning the room to make sure no one was eavesdropping.

"I'm sure they are, Gus," Xanny said. "Seth and Ritchie are very good at taking care of each other." She paused, memory flashing to the particular news story about the woman they'd taken hostage, and how she'd wound up meeting a grizzly fate in that hotel room...

Augusta knew what she was thinking about. "Maybe we could make sure that Mexico is safe _from_ them," she suggested lightly. A strange look came onto her face. "Ritchie was always very quiet with me. I think he might have even _liked_ me."

"You look like me. He was afraid of you," Xanny said. "Or he was afraid of Seth, or he respected you, take your pick. But you have to remember what the Geckos are, Gus. They're not lost puppies or straying, innocent lambs. They're vicious, cold-blooded killers. I know, I ran with them."

Augusta released her hand, propping her elbow up on the table in the same motion and resting her chin on her palm. She'd heard some of the stories about Xanny's times with the Geckos, nothing too graphic. There were also things she hadn't heard, and she knew it -- like how, exactly, Alexandra Wallace had managed to get herself out of a long, hard jail sentence, considering her track record. There had to be more to that story than what she'd heard. But it was okay -- it wasn't like she'd told her twin everything, either. Some secrets just took time, both respected that.

At Gus' thoughtful, distant look, Xanny reached out and sympathetically rubbed her shoulder. "I know, Gus," she said softly. "The heart wants what it wants, and has reasons that reason will never know."

"Pascal," Augusta said with a short grin. "I forget sometimes how smart you are."

"Even for a jailbird?" Xanny teased.

"Book smart, as well as street smart," Augusta said, eyes refocusing on her. "Two completely different kinds of intelligence, you know."

"Well, maybe they gave me yours," Xanny said as the waiter set more bread on the table. Damn, she loved the free appetizer bread at restaurants. Call it the poor girl bred into her, she just couldn't get enough.

"I know, I'm very stupid," Augusta said in a rare moment of self-examination. "It's been six months, I need to move on..." her eyes were filled with sudden pain, "…but I can't."

Xanny had let the subject drop. She had no right to judge, she knew it. And what else was there to do, really? She'd given up on Marcos, she had no one to worry about, no reputation to ruin. Why not go find the Gecko brothers? What did they really have to lose?

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He was displeased.

The Titty Twister still stood on top of the old temple, although it had considerably lost some of its life. He could sense the creatures inside, eying him fearfully. If the master was displeased, it would have been better to have died at the Gecko's hands than face the consequences.

Blackheart strode purposefully toward the entrance, hearing with a certain satisfaction the scurrying just through the front doors. They were afraid. They needed to be afraid, if what he'd been told was true.

Night fell on the smoking wreck of the topless bar, and with the lack of working lights inside, a normal person would have been challenged to see, but Blackheart had no such issues. Darkness was his home, gloom and despair his aphrodisiac. The leathery fluttering of wings, the scratchy sounds of broken claws on rotting wood, and the hissing of pain and terror were his lullaby.

He stepped easily around the devastation, the long coat, more of an extension of his human form than an actual piece of clothing, barely brushing the dust. His senses stretched out for her, confirming what he already knew.

Satanica Pandemonium was dead.

"How did this happen?" he said. His voice, a strange timber that sounded like a human male, but distorted in its echoes by other, overlapping voices that also belonged to him, carried into every single crack of the place. The creatures winced and whimpered.

None of them dared to answer.

Blackheart closed his eyes. He could see it, the imprints left behind of the past. He could see the faces of the humans who had wandered into his world, prey for the monsters who dwelt in it, and had somehow managed to upend everything.

His rage made the hot dry air of the Mexican desert burn with an unholy chill.

"Who?" he breathed into the dark. Sensing the change in direction of his temper, realizing they were secondary to the primary causes of this outrage, the creatures start to creep toward him, and one of them dared to answer.

"Gecko."

Blackheart growled. Not even a noble name, but something after a belly-crawler, a common lizard.

"How many?" he asked.

Now a jump, and a surge. Eager to please, they cried out, "We only left two alive! One, a girl, daughter of a holy man. And the other, the Gecko…Seth Gecko."

"Seth," he hissed. "He's still here."

"Yessss…" Leather flapping of wings, as if they were clapping. "Yes, he dares to stay!"

"And the girl?"

"Gone, gone back to the New Country."

Blackheart smirked. "It makes no difference. But it wasn't she who killed Satanica. It was Seth, by his own hand."

"Yes, yes!" cried the creatures. "Your vengeance be upon him!"

"Oh, it will," Blackheart assured them. "Now clean up this mess. I'll not tolerate your incompetence again."

Thinking that maybe they had been forgiven, the creatures started to scuttle. Blackheart turned and with a swoosh of his coat he left, going back into the desert.

Gecko was close…Blackheart could smell his blood. He could easily divine his location, go straight to him, tear out his throat…

But no. That would be too simple. And Blackheart had been feeling bored as of late. No, it would be much better to hurt Gecko, as he had been hurt. Gecko had not, could not have known what a magnificent creature he had destroyed in Satanica. He would have to learn. He would have to be taught. Then and only then could he feel the full measure of pain that Blackheart wished to give him. And Blackheart was very generous with pain.

The only way a man could learn the value of a woman, was for him to lose his own. And for that, it would take patience.

It didn't matter. For the destruction of a soul, he could wait. He had all the time in eternity.

NEXT UP: Agent Sands!


	3. Guilt

Disclaimer: Seth, El Ray, Santanica Pandemonium are owned by Tarantino and Rodriguez. Sands is owned by Rodriguez, and Blackheart is owned by Marvel Comics. Technically, I do not own Alex Tully – I stole him from this television show that nobody watched called Drive, where he did play a getaway driver in a former life. I do own Xanny, Augusta and Marcos. And that's it.

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Three: Guilt

Seth Gecko did not experience Guilt.

The sensation had been alien from the start, and it did not get easier, not for one second in these last six months. Every time he closed his eyes, every time he laid back his head and let his brain unclench, it was there, floating in his brain. Mostly it began with her face – _woman wouldn't have said shit if her mouth was full of it_ – those poor saggy eyes, that trembling mouth full of crooked teeth, the look of helplessness and terror, replaced by the faintest glimpse of hope.

_Gloria, you hang in there, you follow the rules, and you don't fuck with us, and you'll get out of this alive. I give you my word._

He'd promised her, and she hadn't lasted a few hours. And it was his fault. Sure, it was Ritchie who'd actually done the deed. But he should have known better. Xanny had tried to tell him. She'd _tried_…

_Do you want to live through this?_

Ritchie…poor, sick Ritchie. Why had he ever thought that going to Mexico would take all that sickness and pain away? Because it was away from the law -- the American law, anyway. Truthfully, Ritchie wouldn't have lasted in Mexico. First woman he killed, there would have been a posse of spick-firecracker-salesmen with guns and knives ready to tear him apart, and Seth couldn't have saved him.

Ritchie was better off where he was. _Here is the peace in death that I could not give you in life._

But Xanny…she'd known, and he hadn't listened. Why hadn't he listened? Because Ritchie was the most important person in the world to him, and no one else mattered. Not even a woman he claimed he loved.

Had he loved Xanny? He questioned that, repeatedly. She had been one of the flew blips in his life that had meant something, but he wasn't sure exactly what. Mostly, he questioned it because of her twin sister, Augusta.

Yeah, that was something he still couldn't untwist in his head.

Seth had never doubted himself, not once in his whole life. Not even surrounded by vampires – yes, fucking _vampires_! – in the middle of one of the worst shitholes in Mexico. But now everything was clouded with doubt, and it made the Guilt worse.

Worst thing of it all was, there wasn't anything to do here in El Ray except drink and think. It was exactly how he'd imagined hell to be. Nothing but himself to deal with and the demons of the past. Everything he'd been running from his whole life, and now it was all he had. At least watching out for Ritchie had been some kind of a distraction…

He ordered another tequila. Sitting in this little dump of a bar, where the shots were cheap because they were watered down, he almost felt a bit like he was at home. God knew he spent more time here than anywhere else in El Ray.

It was a good place to spot new prey.

Seth was a bank robber. That was his specialty. He knew all the ins and outs, all the tricks of the trade. But he had liked doing it with Ritchie best. He had liked the flare and the adrenaline. He could go in calm, pass the teller a note, talk to her quietly, whatever. It would accomplish a lot. But it wasn't as fun.

Now, there were no banks. Now, he was forced into petty thievery, into being a stick-up artist. And he had to be very careful about who he picked. Pick the wrong man, the wrong bunch, and you were dead, even if you got away with their loot. El Ray thrived on the protection racket, all the way from Carlos, who ushered you in for a 30 cut, to the smallest lowlifes who shook you down on the street. If you shook down the wrong man, someone under the protection of someone powerful, you were just another body in the gutter by morning.

The rich irony of it was that Seth actually missed the American law. At least they were stable and predictable. Here, it was anarchy. Every man for himself.

He had never felt so much like a cockroach in his life. Unpleasant as the analogy was, however, he had to admit that cockroaches were durable little fuckers, and he was certainly living up to that reputation.

He paid up his bill – tabs did not exist for the wise, only drink what you could pay for was one of his new rules – and headed out. A couple of white guys had just checked into his hotel, and it was time to take a look at their room. They had paid Carlos, but had foolishly refused to share their loot with anyone else.

The streets were deserted – it was getting close to the hottest part of the day, and siesta was settling in. Even El Ray observed the siesta, because if you didn't, it just made you stick out like a sore thumb. It was never good to stick out in El Ray.

Still dark and wiry, his skin an intense olive glow from the sun, Seth did not look like he had when he came here six months ago. He had let his facial hair grow out so that it now covered his face, and his hair, which had once been short and spiky, had grown so that it fell over his ears in thick brown waves. The sun had lightened it, and Seth did not care to spend the money to buy the cheap dye to turn it back – it turned his scalp green, let alone the fact that it was a waste of perfectly good money.

All this change had given him a rather Mexican look. His Spanish was excellent – his accent had improved by leaps and bounds and he spoke almost like a native. To the casual passer-by, it would take a few moments look into his eyes to realize he was white.

The hotel was run down and cheap, and nobody even glanced up when he entered in and did a light sprint up the stairs. He skipped over his landing on the second floor and went for the third – newbies always ended up on the higher floors, it made them easier to corner, and Seth had a scar on the underside of his chin from when he learned that lesson. At the end of the short hallway, he turned left.

And found himself staring down into the barrel of a gun.

The guy was big – not fat or overly muscular, but bulky, like he had an extra layer to his body. Easily he was Seth's height, but he was pale from the little time he'd spent here, and still soft around the edges. He had a good, scary scowl on his face and was putting on a very great effort to seem tough. Seth, who was all sharp edges, immediately knew an amateur when he saw one. This guy was even dressed like a fucking gringo, in a pair of tan pants and a blue shirt that screamed "tourist."

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" the man growled at him. Not a very deep voice, but a lot of attitude in it. He could go somewhere, if he had the right teacher.

"To my room," Seth said without batting an eye.

"Bullshit. Your room is on second. Way down on the other end of the hall."

Seth felt an eyebrow arch. Bad giveaway, but it was hard not to appreciate the fact that this guy was smart. And he was steady – his hand didn't shake as he gripped his handgun.

"Yeah, but the girl I'm tryin' to hook up with is that way." Seth pointed, keeping his eyes locked with the other's. Blue eyes. This guy was pure gringo. He'd never pass for a native.

The other's forehead furrowed in a frown. It was possible – even likely. Seth was a good liar, although he didn't do it much. Telling people the truth was always a better scare tactic. But with a gun in his face, anything went.

"I don't believe you," the guy said. "You've been eyeballing us ever since we came in."

"Hard not to do," Seth said evenly. "Your partner is a fucking idiot, waving his cash around."

"I'll grant you that," the man said, cocking the gun. "But he's still my partner."

Truth be told, every word that came out of this man's mouth just made Seth respect him more. Still, there was this little thing with the gun…"Look, whatever man. I'm just trying to get laid and you're in my way. So let's quit playing the good, the bad and the stupid and just pass like ships, all right?"

The other hesitated, and then un-cocked the gun. "Next time get the girl to come to your room," he said as he unblocked the hallway. "I don't want to see you up here again."

Guy had huge hairy _cajónes _to be talking to Seth Gecko like that. But Seth did the quick calculations and figured it would just be better to walk on by. He'd figure out what to do once he got on the other side of the hallway. Main thing was that the gun was out of his face. Seth started walking, but he hadn't gotten two steps past the door of the room where his two targets had been staying when it came flying open and the other guy charged out.

He had a very large knife. A twelve inch caber, from the flash of bright steel Seth saw. But Seth was quicker, and this guy was stupid enough to yell as he charged, like he was making some idiotic battle cry. Seth ducked, the knife went into the wall, and Seth came back up, elbow out and firmly implanted into his attacker's gut.

"Hey!" shouted the smart one, as the stupid one floundered backwards but attempted to recover. Seth was in full kill-or-be-killed mode, and he was pissed that this fucker had tried to take a shot at him from behind, which just made him twice as mean. He sucker-punched him so that the stupid one fell back into the hotel room, and he ducked inside after just in time to dodge a bullet from the smart one's gun.

The stupid one wouldn't quit. He kept shouting at Seth, his arms and legs flaying as he attempted to fight back. Seth would almost have been willing to knock him out and walk away, except that at the very last second, the guy pulled a gun on him. Seth lowered like a charging bull and shoulder-rammed him, causing the gun to fire upwards and then tumble out of his hand as he went through the singular window of the hotel room. Seth caught himself in the broken frame, but the stupid guy was laid out flat in the street like yesterday's slaughter. Before checking to make sure he was dead, Seth bent down and picked up the discarded gun, and found that their was still one pointed in his face.

The smart guy seemed extremely irritated, but whether it was with Seth or with his partner, Seth couldn't tell. He decided to try for the good option. "Look, like I said man, your partner was a fucking idiot."

"Yeah, well, it hardly matters now, doesn't it?" He hovered behind his gun, wondering if Seth was going to come after him next.

Seth recognized it. "Look, I'm sorry about that." He gestured toward the broken window. He had the gun from the ground, but was smart enough not to point it at the other guy. Instead he shoved it into his belt. "You want some help going downstairs, seeing if he's alive?"

A bit taken aback by Seth's sudden attempt at comraderie, the man seemed to finger his gun with hesitation. Then, annoyed that his backhanded attempt at friendship wasn't working as quickly as he liked, Seth lost his patience. "Look, if you're gonna shoot me, then shoot me, but stop pointing that thing at me if you're not. If it was gonna fuck with you, I'd have done it already, wouldn't I?" He gestured to the gun stuffed in his pants.

This seemed to win the other one over. "Alex Tully," he said, a half-hearted introduction.

"Seth—" Seth started to get out.

"I know who you are," Alex said. "I saw the news. Seth and Ritchie Gecko. Where's your brother?"

Seth swore a momentary lump appeared in his throat. He had never had to say these words out loud before. "He's dead."

A flash of sympathy, but it was quickly mottled over with a frown. "Sorry about that." Alex took a few steps forward toward the window and glanced down. "I'm pretty sure he's dead, too."

Seth glanced down too. The body had already been stripped. Someone had it by the ankle and was attempting to drag it down the street.

"Looks like he's an organ donor now," Seth quipped. "Sorry about that, but uh…well, you know."

Alex shrugged, shook his head. "Like you said. He was a fucking idiot."

Seth nodded. Resilience. This Alex just got better and better. "So…"

Alex looked at him. "So."

"Looks like you need a new partner," Seth said.

Alex nodded. "Maybe. You offering?"

Seth felt a qualm of hesitation. He had worked with Ritchie his entire life. Sure, Xanny had tagged along for a good many years, but still…he had never trusted anybody but Ritchie to really watch his back.

"Well, seeing as how I killed your partner," Seth said, "don't you think it'd only be fair if I got his share of your stash?"

Alex's eyebrows shot up, and then he started to laugh. "You _were_ checking us out."

"Yeah, I was," Seth admitted. "You caught me. Which I guess makes you smart enough to work with me."

"So there's no girl at the end of the hallway?" Alex sounded almost disappointed.

"Not that hallway," Seth said. "But if you've got cash, I know a place we can go."

Alex sighed, looked down out the window at the dirt trail left behind by his partner's corpse. "Nah. But thanks for offering."


	4. Harmless

Disclaimer: Hey, guys, look! I'm making soup! Seth and El Ray are owned by Tarantino and Rodriguez. Sands is owned by Rodriguez, and Blackheart is owned by Marvel Comics. Technically, I do not own Alex Tully – I stole him from this television show that nobody watched called Drive, where he did play a getaway driver in a former life. I do own Xanny, Augusta and Marcos. And that's it.

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Four: Harmless

Xanny had crossed the border before. But it had always been illegally. She'd never had to deal with border cops before. Somehow, it hadn't occurred to her, when Augusta had suggested this trip, that she'd need a passport to keep everything legal and in-line with her newfound privilege. So it was a bit of a surprise to her when Augusta pulled out of her back two shiny black leather booklets with gold lettering on the front.

"You'll find everything up to date, officer," she told the woman, dark haired and sleek with a pony-tail flapping in the incoming desert breeze. "Mine's been stamped a few times but my sister is new to the whole traveling thing."

The woman looked at Augusta's, which had obviously been used, although kept in immaculate condition, to Xanny's, which had never been touched save to open it.

"And why is that?" the woman asked skeptically.

"She's paranoid about leaving the continental U.S.," Augusta said without missing a beat. "And I was always the bolder one of the family."

Xanny almost blushed to the roots of her bluish-tinted hair. The cop didn't miss it.

"I see," she said dryly. "Well, everything is in order, Miss…" And then she saw the name. "Baxton."

Augusta waited.

"Have a nice stay in Mexico." The cop smiled and waved them on.

"First of all," Xanny said when they made their first stop about a half-hour later at a cantina by the road, "where in the world did you get a passport for me without me knowing? Don't you have to apply for those in person or something?"

Augusta chuckled. "You really don't know the world you're living in, do you dear?"

Choosing to ignore the snobbery hiding underneath that remark, Xanny went on. "And second, you knew we'd need those passports. You were planning all of this all along, weren't you?"

"Planning what?" Augusta asked, looking away.

"Going to Mexico. Looking for Seth and Ritchie."

Augusta swallowed. In the moment she took to answer, a dozen possibilities flittered through Xanny's mind. What was her sister hiding? Augusta had spent her whole life hiding things, and now that she had her twin, it had seemed that Xanny was her only confidant. Now, it was starting to look like that was not so.

"I confess I had hoped it might turn into this," Augusta said. "Come on, Xan, you're not gonna get all indignant on me over that, are you? You tell me you weren't concerned when they showed up all over the national news over what happened in Texas."

Xanny considered this with a scowl and a sigh. It was true enough. And it wasn't terribly surprising. "Still," she said, "at least you could have said something about the passport. You don't have to do everything for me, I'm not a child."

"Two margaritas, one on the rocks and one blended," Augusta said aside to the waitress who had approached. "No, of course not," she addressed to Xanny. "I'm sorry, I just didn't think about it."

Xanny shrugged. It was well enough.

After relaxing a bit – riding through straight desert was much less pleasant that going through greener country, simply because of the enormous amounts of dust – they headed off again. They had followed the trail that the Geckos had made during their rampage, and if Xanny knew Seth at all, he would have made arrangements.

A few nights ago, Augusta had come to her and asked her where she thought Seth might have gone. Pulling out a map, they had sat up for hours talking about it. Augusta had had a few suggestions, and claimed they were based on things Xanny was saying, but since the business with the passports, Xanny wasn't so sure anymore. It would not be unthinkable that Augusta would play her cards so close to the chest that she wouldn't even tell her own sister what was going on.

This created a very uncomfortable feeling in the pit of Xanny's stomach that no amount of tequila could dissolve.

It wasn't a very long trip to the first possible stop. The two women had marked spots on the map where Seth might have wanted to stop – always Seth, Xanny noted, rarely the mention of Ritchie, but that wasn't that strange, Seth had always run the show – but Xanny knew that ultimately Seth would want to get as deep into Mexico as he could, and to a place where he was protected from all forms of law.

That meant El Ray.

Xanny had never been to El Ray, but she had heard about it, numerous times. Seth had talked about it, but only as some vague, distant possibility. It was supposed to be this haven in the middle of the Mexican desert for all manner of criminal – for the right price. Bank robbers and extortionists were the most welcome, as they had the largest bankroll. Serial killers and sex offenders were generally not welcomed unless they could pay the piper, and the price was always higher for them. But from what Xanny understood, no one she'd ever known had gone to El Ray and come back to tell the tale. She visualized it as a no-man's land for lowlifes and bottom-feeders – a Hades-on-earth sort of place where men fed off one another.

She couldn't imagine why Seth would want to go there, but she also knew how Seth's thinking went. He visualized it as a paradise, free flowing booze and no law. It would be perfect for him.

And Ritchie…well, no place on earth could cure the sickness that was Ritchie.

Getting to El Ray, however, was not easy. You had to have an official escort. One did not just _show up_ in El Ray, one had to pay the ferryman. Tourists who went there generally came back much lighter in the wallet, if they came back at all. And Xanny wasn't sure any of her contacts would be any good.

It was a quandary. Augusta seemed only mildly perturbed by it. They had agreed to start at the gas station that the Geckos had blown to kingdom come and follow the trail.

So far, it hadn't offered much. Xanny quite frankly had no idea if they were on the right track, but Augusta seemed like a hound dog on a scent.

They drove for a bit until they came to what was marked as a dead-end road. It was isolated from anything even resembling civilization – it looked like beyond was a giant canyon, but Xanny wouldn't have dared approach it for fear of having to go past the building that sat at the edge of it.

It was called the Titty Twister. And it was currently asleep in the head of the afternoon sun.

Xanny could picture it easily when the sun went down. Huge and ghastly, with bright pink neon depicting a topless woman getting her nipple pinched, it sat at the end of the road and made Xanny think of a fat, monstrous spider sitting in the middle of a web. It was surrounded by diesel trucks and motorcycles of all designs, mostly Harleys.

Instantly Xanny thought, _Seth would love this place_.

Augusta parked her bike a bit of a ways back and pulled off her helmet. They were both of them dressed head to toe in black leather, spiked with silver studs. Without make-up today, they looked like two biker chicks out for a good time, not a couple of heiresses. Augusta's only giveaway was her silvery-blond hair, which she had pulled back into a severe ponytail. Xanny's blue had faded out quite a bit, but it was still there like a halo, and the hair underneath was considerably darker for all the dying. She had left hers down, as it was shorter than Augusta's.

"I don't know about this," Xanny said.

Augusta looked at her, wide-eyed. "What, you're not afraid of this little old place, are you? Besides, it doesn't look like its open."

Xanny blinked. There were a few bikes and trucks scattered over the expanse of the dirt plane that passed for a parking lot, but no people. The doors seemed to be barricaded shut.

"Well, it is daytime, and the sign says 'From Dusk Till Dawn,'" Xanny pointed out.

"So therefore its harmless," Augusta assured her. "Come on."

"Come on where?" Xanny cried as Augusta started to walk toward it. "What good is it to go to a bar when it's closed?"

"Maybe there's a cleaning crew," Augusta pointed out. "Maybe we can ask them questions. Besides, you want to be here when it's open? We'd never get anything done. We'd be beating off men with sticks."

"Who'd have the sticks, us or the men?" Xanny muttered as Augusta went right up to the door. She placed her hand on the wooden door and pushed.

Nothing. It was locked.

"Why don't you try knocking?" Xanny asked sarcastically.

Augusta shot her a look, made a fist, and started to pound. It echoed around the insides, sounding hollow and forlorn.

Nobody answered.

"Dammit," Augusta swore. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a credit card.

"What the hell are you going to do with that?" Xanny exclaimed.

"If it's locked, maybe I can get it open."

"Oh, yeah, this kind of place would have a lock you could pick with a credit card." Xanny shook her head in disgust and went back to the bikes, and returned a few moments later with a crowbar. "This is the way to get into a place like this."

Augusta grinned wryly. "Well, the criminal awakens."

"Oh, shut up." Xanny put the wedge side of the crowbar between the doors, and pushed.

It creaked, but didn't budge. Augusta joined in, and they alternated between pushing and pulling, but nothing, absolutely nothing gave way.

"It's almost like its bolted shut from the inside," Xanny said several moments later as they panted against the heavy structure. "What the hell do they have in there that they gotta bolt it shut from the inside?"

"Beats the hell out of me," Augusta said. "I am exhausted. And I shudder to think what kind of hotel we're gonna find out here."

Xanny nodded. "We may have to come back later," she said. "At night, when its open." She paused. "You did bring your gun, didn't you?"

"Course I did," Augusta said. "Wouldn't leave home without it."

"Certainly not tonight," Xanny said. "Come on, let's go find a safe place to crash in the meantime."

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"What the fuck do you mean, you're not feeling well?" Xanny raged at her a few hours later, when the sun had made most of its descent into the horizon. The dusky evening was ripe with shades of orange and pink, but there was an overlying purple and gold that gave everything a mildly sinister look. It shadowed the bedroom the two of them were sharing, the bridal suite, the only decent room in the entire hotel. Augusta had been the one to insist on sharing it, although Xanny had been willing to take a lesser room next door. Either Augusta was feeling insecure, which was likely, or it was something else…

"I think I've got road burn," Augusta said, not peeking out from under the cold compress she'd made out of a plastic bag, ice, and a few washcloths. Her voice was somewhere between a husky whisper and a child-like whine. "I swear I can hardly see past the lightshow. I think it's a migraine."

"I don't believe this," Xanny grumbled as she plopped down on the far side of the bed. It was a huge king, big enough for both of them. Xanny didn't mind, but she knew Augusta had probably never shared her bed with anyone, certainly not a woman, and even with a man it had probably been sex and then "see ya." "We've come so far…"

"I know, it's just going to have to wait one more day," Augusta whispered, peeking one eye out from under the washcloth. "Come on, Xan, I swear to God I can hardly move."

Xanny sighed, considered this, and then shrugged. "I guess it doesn't matter," she conceded. "You're right, one day more or less. I don't suppose you'd mind if I went tonight without you, would you?" She started to get off the bed.

Augusta reached out and seized Xanny's wrist with such force that Xanny almost fell back. She looked at her sister, startled.

"Don't you dare," Augusta said, and then her voice switched to a whine. "You can't go without me, Xan, that would be just horrible. Can't you wait?"

"Well, if I go alone," Xanny said, carefully pushing the subject, "we wouldn't lose a day. I mean, I'm perfectly capable of handling a rowdy bar on my own, Gus. I was in prison, for juniper's sake. It can't be worse than that."

The grip tightened. "No," Augusta hissed. "No, I don't want you to go. I feel so bad, Xan. I might start throwing up, and I don't want to be alone. Please, don't go."

"Well…all right, for you." Xanny got up, realizing that Augusta's fingers had left red marks on her skin. "Geeze, the sick and the dying do get pretty strong," she said, showing them to her.

"Sorry." Gus actually sounded meek. "Thank you though, for staying."

"Yeah, sure. Look, you mind if I use the shower? You can barf in the toilet while I'm in there, I don't care."

"Yeah, fine," Gus said, crawling back under the washcloth pack. "I just… wanna rest."


	5. Secrets

Disclaimer: Hey, guys, look! I'm making soup! Seth and El Ray are owned by Tarantino and Rodriguez. Sands is owned by Rodriguez, and Blackheart is owned by Marvel Comics. Technically, I do not own Alex Tully – I stole him from this television show that nobody watched called Drive, where he did play a getaway driver in a former life. I do own Xanny, Augusta and Marcos. And that's it.

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Five: Secrets

Seth ate like he'd never seen food before. He stuffed so many tortillas into his mouth he was sure his jaws were going to wear out, but still, he kept shoving it down.

His dinner partner, Alex, didn't seem to be paying much attention, and if he was, he didn't seem to care. He picked at his burrito – the man didn't care much for beans, they had been scraped aside into a pile on the corner of his plate – and glanced here and there around the room, never keeping his eyes on one person for too long.

To be honest, Seth didn't know what to really make of this guy. He knew he was smart, and fast, and tough. But the mere fact that he seemed to be so willing to just take Seth under wing – it was his money, after all, and Seth was willing to play second fiddle for a certain period of time, if the price was right – and not even argue about sharing his money were all warning signs. Still, this man seemed to completely lack the malicious, spiteful aura that just about every other criminal in his line of work had ever shown. Yes, he was a criminal, but not a guilty or overly-self-seeking one. Seth was the center of his own world, but this man was not.

And like most self-seeking men, he did not entirely trust those who were not.

"So," Seth said, drawing his attention. Alex raised his eyebrows and had a mildly sleepy look on his face, as if he'd forgotten Seth was there. "You know about me. Seems only fair I get to know about you. What brings you down to El Ray?"

"My travel agent though it would be a nice change of pace," Alex said, giving Seth a shallow smile.

"Uh huh," Seth said, waiting it out.

"I'm a getaway driver," Alex explained after a few moments. "They rob the banks and I get them away, simple as that. I'm very good at it, but this time in order to accomplish my goal, we had to cross the border. So one of them called up this guy Carlos, and for a percentage of our take he escorted us here. Doesn't seem like this place would be populated if not for the criminal element. And it also doesn't seem to have any easy exits."

"Well, usually only the really desperate come down here," Seth said. He was taking in what Alex had said – a getaway driver. "You must have wound up really hurting someone for them to chase you that far."

"I think my partner wound up killing a woman hostage and her kid," Alex said, his voice tight. "Quite frankly, if you hadn't killed him, I might have."

Seth considered his next question. "Have you ever killed anyone before?"

Alex looked back at him, and didn't answer.

"The reason I ask, is," Seth said, "if you're just a getaway driver, that means you're not in the bank, with the gun, in people's faces. You don't know what it's like."

"Maybe not," Alex replied tense. "But they stick you with the same homicide charges just the same. And since I'm currently the only one left alive…" He let the thought drift off.

"Yeah," Seth murmured. "Yeah." Wanted was wanted, and in the eyes of the law, it was all the same. Still, if worse came to worse and Alex couldn't pull the trigger…but then again, did it matter? A getaway driver wasn't supposed to leave the car.

Then he realized – he was putting the horse before the cart. If he ever wanted to go back to the States, there were things he had to do first. He would have to get a new identity – goodbye, Seth Gecko, wanted for murdering several Texas Rangers and two innocent civilians. Since Ritchie was dead, what he had done to Gloria was going to fall on him – he would be charged as a sex offender, even if just by association. He would need paperwork, and worse, he may need plastic surgery. The thought of that made his skin crawl.

"So do you know if they've seen your face?" he asked. "I mean, are there pictures?"

"Not of me, that I know of. I wasn't in the bank," Alex answered. "I'm hoping it might be enough to sneak across the border back into the states."

"It won't," Seth said. "If you're serious about getting back in, you'll have to get new identification and the whole works. Although if they didn't see you, you probably don't need plastic surgery."

Alex looked disgusted. "Around here? No thanks."

"If it means getting out of El Ray," Seth said, "I'll risk it."

"How long have you been down here?"

"Almost six months. You?"

"Not even a few days and I already can't wait to leave. No wonder you wear that horrible beard."

"Well, if you're cutting me in for your partner's former share, I'll have enough money to get it shaved off."

"If you're getting plastic surgery, don't bother, they'll shave it all for you, and I think you're better off letting a hospital do it. Looks like they'll have to de-louse you first, though."

Seth rankled at the disdain in Alex's voice. But no, it wasn't the time or place to be rash. "So, Dad, does that mean I can't have twenty bucks for the barber?"

With a sigh, Alex actually pulled out a twenty and tossed it at Seth. "Go knock yourself out, kid."

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Augusta waited until Xanny was asleep. It took a long time…first there was the steady breathing, but that kept getting disturbed every time Augusta tried to get off the bed. Then came the mild snoring, and finally, there was the telltale roll on the bed, and a resuming of the snoring.

Sands had told her not to go to the Titty Twister at night, but obviously there wasn't any other way around it, was there? Besides, what could be so awful that—

She had just gotten down to her bike when her cellular phone went off. She felt a horrible lurch in her stomach – what the hell was she going tell Xanny? How would she explain herself? Already she knew her twin suspected something, but Augusta just couldn't bear to tell. How did one explain that one had been paying a CIA agent to feed her information about Seth's whereabouts? And worse, when Xanny asked for an explanation for how _that_ particular feat was possible…how she had a CIA agent in her pocket to begin with…no, it was better this way.

Augusta had to have _some_ secrets, after all.

So when she pulled the phone out and saw that it was not Xanny who was calling her, she let her breath out in relief. But annoyance flared up in place of the fear when she saw that it was Sands.

"What do you want?" she snapped. It was nearly half past two in the morning. What did the man think she was, at his beck and call?

"You're going to the Titty Twister at night, aren't you?" came the droll voice.

"So what if I am? What's the big deal, anyway?" She made herself bring her voice down. The mixture of relief and annoyance were making her hyper. "Are you going to tell me why I shouldn't?"

"You just shouldn't." His voice was rather harsh. "Isn't that enough for you? Oh, wait, I forget, nobody tells Augusta Baxton what to do, at no time and in no place. Which is why you've got a sealed criminal record. You and your long lost sister aren't so different, are you?"

Augusta felt her cheeks burn in indignation. For him to bring _that_ up was just plain dirty. "Tell me why, Sands. Stop beating around the bush and just tell me."

"Because…because it's not safe."

"I have a gun."

"It won't do you any damn good."

Augusta pulled up with a start. "A gun is no good? What the hell do those Mexican's have in that place, friggin' vampires?"

There was an awkward pause. "It's a cursed place, Augusta," he said, his voice tight. "Even I won't go there. I've set foot in that place once and it was during the day. If Seth is there, you won't even recognize him."

The mention of Seth had been a bad move, and Sands instantly regretted it. "Look, I'm going. If those people have information, I don't care what it costs, I'm going." And she hung up the phone.

The man was nuts. That was all it was. Sands had always been unbalanced, it was why she had never gotten serious with him. Obviously all this time down here had finally pushed him to the point of no return and he was just babbling.

Still…she stood in the parking lot, looking at her bike. Then she looked over at Xanny's. On an impulse, she reached over into the sidesaddle pocket and pulled open the flap.

Xanny's rosary, made of silver beads studded with tiny pieces of crystal, lay in the pocket. She always kept it on her bike, the way some people put medals of St. Christopher on their dashboards. Augusta slipped it out and put it around her neck. It hung like an overly-long necklace, the crucifix dipping down to her stomach like some giant lavaliere. It felt comfortable and cool against her skin, actually, and feeling a bit better, she reached over and gripped the handles of her bike. She kicked up the stand and walked the giant Harley down the road about fifty yards, until she was clear of the building, and then started it up.

_Titty Twister_, she thought, _here I come._


	6. Exchange

Disclaimer: Hey, guys, look! I'm making soup! Seth and El Ray are owned by Tarantino and Rodriguez. Sands is owned by Rodriguez, and Blackheart is owned by Marvel Comics. Technically, I do not own Alex Tully – I stole him from this television show that nobody watched called Drive, where he did play a getaway driver in a former life. I do own Xanny, Augusta and Marcos. And that's it.

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Six: Exchange

The place was the exact opposite of what it had been during the day.

The Titty Twister roared with life. Bikers revved their motors and truckers honked their horns to announce their arrivals. Some of the bikers rode in a giant circle around a bonfire that was lit just outside the walk up to the entrance of the bar, and everyone was drinking – the air smelled of gas and alcohol, and something else. Something she couldn't place. It was metallic, and warm…almost like blood.

The sign was every bit as horrible as she thought it would be, and it seemed that the place practically dripped with sex and perversion. The men who clustered about were ugly and mean-looking, either bikers or truckers – no women except her were entering the place.

She didn't enter right away. She parked a bit off, wondering for a moment if Sands hadn't been right. _The place is cursed_. Something about the neon lights and the roaring and the distant music seemed…diabolical. She felt a bit queasy looking at it.

Sure, she'd gone into some rough places in her time, but she had a feeling that no amount of money or esteem was going to keep one of these monsters from going for her throat if she made the wrong move. And not seeing any women clientele made her even more nervous – that meant there were strippers in there, and what kind of strippers a place like this would employ made her a bit nauseas with the contemplation.

Still…it was her last link to Seth, and she wasn't going to wimp out and lose it. So she squared her shoulders and pretended she was Xanny – not a care in the damn world, and _don't you dare fuck with me or I'll lay you out flat_. And she headed inside.

Things seemed to slow down a bit as she approached them. Faces turned to look at her, and instead of the jeering and catcalls she had expected, all she got were long, pronounced stares.

This was worse than the catcalls. The only was to describe it was to compare it to the feeling she got when she was wearing the wrong outfit, or had something on her face, and instead of telling her, everyone preferred to look down on her for it, and mock her silently. But there was something else in those stares, something she couldn't place. Almost like they were…afraid of her?

She reached up and fingered the rosary through her shirt. It seemed to burn a bit against her skin, especially compared to the cool comfort she felt before. She felt the horrible urge to take it off and toss it aside, and the feeling grew as she neared the doors, but instead she reached though the buttons of her shirt and gripped it in a fist. No way it was coming off. No way.

There was a man at the door – short and mustached, with little hair on top of his head and a lot of it growing down his back. He seemed to have a dull, dumb expression on his face, and he pulled back the door for her and seemed to cow a bit. He didn't say a word.

Augusta went inside, and was greeted by several dozen writhing partially-naked female bodies dancing on everything that would hold them – tables, chairs, a stage, and little alcoves nestled here and there among the high walls. The place looked much bigger on the inside than the outside. And much scarier.

"Get you a drink?" asked the bartender, who was, to her surprise, a black man. He had a huge mass of upper body muscles, thick forearms, and was chewing on the end of a cigar even as he wiped the glasses with a dirty cloth.

"Beer. In a bottle," she said.

He reached under the bar and produced her brand, even though she hadn't specified, and it was perfectly icy cold. He handed it to her.

She didn't ask how much it was, she just went for her pocket. It was a gesture she had done her whole life. She never asked how much things cost – she'd never had to. The first time Xanny had done it, it had startled and then amused her into laughter, and Xanny hadn't appreciated it.

Come to think of it, Xanny hadn't really appreciated much of anything she'd done for her.

"No charge," the bartender said, looking at her with the same pronounced stare as the ones out in the parking lot – if that chaos out there could be called that. It snapped her back from her unusually bitter reverie, and she nodded her thanks and went deeper into the bar.

She looked around, studying the faces. She half-hoped to get a glance out of the corner of her eye of a sleek, dark-haired man with a tattoo that covered his arm and climbed up the left side of his neck, the black flames of an abstract dragon. But everything seemed blurry – everyone moved so quickly here, hardly standing still for more than two seconds, and those who did pause seemed to vibrate in place.

Only one didn't seem to move. Over in the far corner, on the left-hand side of the rather rickety stage, sat a man at a table. He was alone, but the table seemed large enough for many others. It was set with various riches, food and cigars and alcohol, but nobody ate, drank or smoked. He sat at the head of the table but was turned to the right, in a sideways position, and the table led off to his left, where everyone kept their distance.

The man himself looked young, or youthful, and yet there was also a sense of age about him – ancientness, if there was such a word. His hair was black, and thick, and seemed to spike about his head. His skin was so pale – paper white, with a nearly bluish tent. Although torches flickered everywhere, he seemed to be perpetually shadow, which gave him that twilight glow. His face was perfect, at least a first glance. Everything was perfectly proportioned, nothing too large or small. His lips were a pinkish color, not full, but hardly thin, and curled in faultless balance. And his eyes.

His eyes.

Feline they were, blue and green with yellow reflections, and something else…she couldn't see clearly enough. She wanted to come closer, felt she _should_ come closer, felt he _wanted_ her to…nearer and nearer.

"Hello," he said, greeting her like a gracious host at a very posh party. His voice seemed to carry without any hindrance from the cacophony around her. It even seemed to contain its own echo.

"Hello," she said. Impulsively, seeing the table so empty, and seeing his eyes so inviting, she said, "May I sit?"

"Absolutely."

She pulled out a chair and settled into it as gracefully as she could. Having been brought up so properly, which could explain why the improper was so appealing to her, it was considerably so.

She couldn't stop looking at him.

He smiled at her. "So what brings you to my bar?" he asked her.

She started. "You own this place?"

He sighed. "Terribly uncouth, I know, but it brings in more money in a night than the most expensive French restaurant in New York."

She had to appreciate that. Money was money, regardless of where it came from. Her parents hadn't understood that, and neither had Marcus.

"And actually, I don't own it. I merely…profit from it."

She frowned a little, but he was so very pretty…did it matter if he confused her a little? She enjoyed a challenge.

"I'm Augusta," she said. "My friends call me Gus."

"And they're still your friends?"

She chuckled. "Sometimes they call me Charlie, for my middle name, Charlene."

"A beautiful woman," the man said, "should have a name to match her. Augusta comes from the most powerful men in history, from Emperors and Kings."

"Actually, I think it was from St. Augustine," she said. "If you can imagine that irony."

His eyes flickered. "I can," he said in a strangely husky voice, and she pictured, with sudden and absolutely startling clarity, what he would look like, arching over her, naked and swathed in bedroom light, while she curled under him, writhing in sexual pleasure. She had to blink to wipe the image away.

"So you still haven't answered my question," he said, casually and yet with a sly undertone to his echoing voice. "What brings you here?"

"I'm looking for someone," she said. "A friend."

"And you thought he might be here?" An arched eyebrow, and a note of disdain.

"Yes…no…well, I mean, I know that he passed through here. Some months ago. I was wondering if anybody would…remember him."

She faltered. He was looking at her, looking _into_ her. Like he could see things about her that were so deep she hardly knew they were there. He definitely knew she was hiding something – those piercing eyes seemed to pull it out, like a splinter.

"The people here," he said, with a deceptive casualness, "don't really pay much attention to transients."

"Well," she said, feeling the words drip from her almost against her will, "I know that when he was here, something…happened. I can't get information on what. But I figured he would be pretty memorable."

"For either good or bad," the man said. She felt herself nodding.

"I heard it was pretty bad," she said. "But this place…it's still here, and running. It couldn't have been as bad as they say."

The man nodded. "Few things affect this place for long." He paused. "Do you have a picture of your friend?"

She perked up. "Yes, I do," she said, reaching into one of the zipper pockets of her jacket. She pulled out the newspaper print of the mug shot, put it on the table and slid it across to him. She should have thought of it sooner, she told herself. After all, if he owned this place, surely he could get his own employees to talk. She'd been smart to come over here.

He waited until her hands were clear, and then leaned over the picture. It took him only a minute, but his movements were slow and fluid, and so very smooth. When he looked up at her again, this time his grin showed teeth. "What if I could tell you that I know where this man is?"

She faltered. "You know where he is?"

"I can tell you _exactly_ where he is," the man replied. "It's what you came in here for, ultimately, isn't it?" He paused. "The way to El Ray?"

She felt her heart pulse up into her throat, but couldn't move. He seemed to pin her there, with his eyes and his smile and his voice. "You know…you know how to get there?"

He nodded. "All I would ask is one little favor in return."

And that was where she bridled. Not that his man wasn't completely hot, but she hadn't been with anyone since Seth, simply because she desired no one else. Still, would it be so bad to be with someone this striking? Seth would forgive her; he had probably been with a dozen women since her.

She felt a queer sense of excitement as she leaned forward and asked, "What?"

"That pretty necklace you're wearing," the man whispered, yet she could hear him perfectly over the noise of the place. "Take it off."

She blinked, shook her head. "Excuse me?"

"Take. It. Off. Put it on the table."

Unconsciously, her hand reached under the collar of her shirt, where she felt Xanny's rosary beads. Her fingers curled around them, wanting to tug them off.

_Don't do it._

The voice came from nowhere…inside her head, or maybe something just behind her shoulder that couldn't be seen. Her hand jerked away.

"I, uh…I can't. Its not mine, its…"

The man shrugged, leaned back in his seat, and folded his hands. His skin was so very pale…"Very well," he said, disappointment heavy in his voice. "Such a small price to pay when you've come so far. And someone like you, whose resources are so vast, can't part with a trinket? Your friend would hardly be appreciative of you giving up at the last mile."

She scowled. "I already know where he is," she said defiantly. "He's in a place called El Ray. I just need to…to, uh…" Why the hell couldn't she think clearly, all of a sudden.

"You'll never get to El Ray. Not without someone to guide you. Nobody gets to El Ray without knowing the right people." He was talking in a disinterested tone, looking around at the other people in the bar. He smiled, and with the way his eyes were far away from her, it was errie, almost frightening. Those bright eyes, dark hair and pale skin…"This is your last chance, Augusta. If you walk away, you'll never find what you're looking for."

She wanted to get up, to throw some kind of tantrum, to defy him, but seeing his smug countenance, hearing his self-assured tone, somehow it defeated her. She had a choice. It was either do this little thing, or give up Seth.

It was so little to ask. She'd buy Xanny another rosary, no problem. It would be ridiculous to give up when she was so close…

She reached back under the collar of her shirt, and entwined the beads in her fingers. Then, slowly, something fighting against her the whole way, he lifted them off her neck and over her head. They made a small pile on the table…it seemed funny, such a fuss over such a small thing.

The man smiled. She felt a fluttering in her heart, and another flash of imagination in her head almost caused her to lose her breath…him holding her in his arms, the feel of his hands against her body. She let out a gasp and the image broke.

He was leaning across the table, his mouth approaching her ear. She felt a terrible, shuddering chill, and it reached through her body, down into her stomach, its hooks into her soul. When he breathed, she felt it pass through her, and almost cried out in a weird kind of ecstasy.

She closed her eyes.

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"Dammit!" Xanny had been cussing at herself continuously for the last ten minutes. The last one was because she dropped her keys on the ground as she was heading out to the parking lot.

She scooped them up, stood up, and came face to face with a man she did not know. He just appeared, out of nowhere.

"Fucking hell!" she said, and managed to keep from screaming it. She blinked, took a look at the stranger, and instantly realized it was a white guy. Alarm flooded her, but she balled one hand into fist inside her coat pocket, fingers threading through the set of brass knuckles she kept there. Any man just popping up on her in the middle of the damn night could not be good.

"God, you do look just like her," the man marveled, although in a rather deadpan way.

"Who? What do…who the fuck are you and what do you want with me in the middle of the goddam night!? In the middle of fucking nowhere, to boot!"

"Calm down," he said, sounding almost bored. "I'm a…friend…of your sister's. Agent Sands. I'm with the C.I.A."

"Which C.I.A., the Cleavage Inspection Agency?" she said suspiciously. Years of her criminal life had taught her a good healthy suspicion of anything even smelling of law enforcement.

"Heh." He grinned at her appreciatively. "Crusty. I like that in a girl. But seriously, where the fuck is your sister?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." She turned toward her bike.

"Augusta Charlene Baxton, formerly the fiancée of business baron Marcos Ferrare, until the baton passed to you, Alexandra, long lost twin sister. I could give you a detailed history of how you were kidnapped at birth, but I'm sure you'd find it boring." He looked at her, as she stared back at him, scowling now with anger. "Point is, I told your sister to stay the hell away from the Titty Twister at night. And she was stupid enough to go ahead anyway."

"Then what the fuck are you doing here?" Xanny demanded. "Why didn't you go stop her?"

"Because I don't go near that fucking place without a canteen of holy water and a crucifix," Sands replied evenly. "And I figured that you would be stupid enough to go after her."

"Oh, you came to stop me, a girl you never met before, just show up here in the middle of the damn night and scare the shit out of me, how very fucking gallant." She threw one leg over the Harley and prepared to start it.

"If you're going, you should take this," he said, extending something to her.

"Spare me," she said, reaching for her little zip pocket. "I've got a…"

But the pouch was empty. Her rosary was gone.

"Where did it--?"

"What was it?" Sands asked.

Thrown off, Xanny heard herself answering. "My rosary. It was blessed."

"Augusta took it. At least she was smart enough to do that, we might have a chance." Sands said, still holding out a little bundle to her.

"What is it?" she asked, taking it, thrown off by the disappearance of her rosary.

"It's called a scapular," Sands said. "They're supposed to be pretty powerful. They're pretty popular around here, for the die-hard Catholics, anyway. Thought you'd appreciate it."

"Oh…you wearing one of these?" she asked.

Sands snorted. "Please, I'm many things, but I'm not a hypocrite. No, my St. Christopher's medal has been enough to keep them away."

"Keep _who_ away?" Xanny said, eyes narrowed and her voice low and deadly.

Sands sighed, thought it over, and then said, "Vampires."


	7. Reunion

Disclaimer: Hey, guys, look! I'm making soup! Seth and El Ray are owned by Tarantino and Rodriguez. Sands is owned by Rodriguez, and Blackheart is owned by Marvel Comics. Technically, I do not own Alex Tully – I stole him from this television show that nobody watched called Drive, where he did play a getaway driver in a former life. I do own Xanny, Augusta and Marcos. And that's it.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: It was revealed to me by my singular faithful reviewer (which is poetic justice, because when I wrote Convergence I only had one faithful reviewer then, too, lol) that a few of the characters need their storylines clarified in relation to their original movies/tv shows

**Blackheart**: He is post-Ghostrider. First of all, demons aren't mortal, they're immortal, and he was catatonic at the end of the movie anyway, and who knew how long that would last? So he's post-movie.

**Alex Tully**: He is post-Drive, as you'll see when he talks about his story in later chapters.

**Sands**: He is the only pre-Once Upon A Time In Mexico guy here, because I don't write about characters who are missing eyeballs. It's just a thing I have. I am attempting to write another Wes Bentley fic on the movie P2, and if you saw that movie, he got his eyeball popped out – well, I figure out a miracle way to get it back. Don't ask. This is fiction…sometimes we really streeeeeetch reality.

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Seven: Reunion

This guy was crazy. That was all there was to it. But he seemed to care about Gus, and he was coming with her to a place he professed was dangerous, so at least he had that going for him.

But he believed in vampires. Which didn't put him on the top ten list of sane.

He followed her close behind in his car – not that he didn't try to get ahead, but when Xanny was on her bike few could keep up with her.

Vampires. Fucking _vampires!_ As if this whole world wasn't twisted and sick enough, it had to go add something as vile as the living dead to the mix. Sure, Xanny had seen all the vampire movies, but Sands had explained to her, in a hurried sort of way, that these creatures were more in line with the old _Nos Feratu _movie from way back in the silent days than they were with the modernized Tom Cruise/Brad Pitt/Anne Rice version that was so romantically popular.

But something about it…she didn't understand. Why was she even humoring this nut? Why didn't she just leave him sucking her dirt? No, she'd let him follow her, as if something wouldn't just let her dismiss him. Was it the panic of worry about Gus? Or was it…anger?

Because she was angry, she realized. She was furious at Augusta. Why the woman had taken it upon herself to sneak out in the middle of the night…and worse yet, she knew this guy, and he knew her, and he was CIA? What the fuck was up with that? The woman would have more explaining to do than she knew what to do with when Xanny caught her, and maybe that was why Sands was still around, as evidence of the fact that Augusta, for all her talk, hadn't trusted her.

The Titty Twister, as they approached it, seemed almost subdued. Xanny thought it would be worse – louder, uglier, more rowdy. But instead, all she could see was the figure approaching them down the road. Heading toward a familiar-looking bike.

Xanny pulled up beside the woman, and barely got the bike into park before she leapt off it and nearly strangled Augusta. "What the hell are you doing?" Xanny shouted at her.

Augusta looked at Xanny, and instantly Xanny knew something wasn't right. Augusta should, at the very least, look surprised that Xanny was there, should look caught, at least fake some measure of guilt. But there was a dazed look on her twin's face, very much like someone who had just smoked too much pot, or had wandered for too long in the desert heat.

"Oh, good," Augusta muttered. "You're here."

"Better believe it," Xanny ranted, throwing her hand back to indicate Sands as he pulled up beside them. "And I brought your friend. Seems that he's with a little organization known as the CIA. What the hell is going on, Gus? What the fuck are you up to?"

"I found Seth," Augusta said, and her tone, for all its nearly-slurred-ness, was triumphant.

This nearly brought Xanny up short. "Seth?" she echoed. "Is he in there?"

Augusta shook her head. "No, but he was. I know how to get to him now. _He_ told me."

"_He_?" Xanny mouthed, and then rushed forward as Augusta attempted to mount her bike. "Whoah, wait just a fucking second, you're not going anywhere until you explain what the hell is going on."

"What are you on about, Xanny?" Augusta said, looking annoyed. "I don't have to tell you anything. You're not my mother, you know."

"No, I know I'm not. In fact, as I seem to remember, I don't even know what our mother was like. We don't have one anymore. I thought all we had was each other, but it seems you don't really trust me, do you?"

This, of all things, seemed to bring Augusta up short. She looked at Xanny over her shoulder, and her expression turned pained. It brought her back to something resembling her normal self. "God, Xanny…don't take it so personal. I just didn't want you to get the wrong idea…but I guess that was all for nothing now, huh?"

Sands got out of his car and came around. "How'd you get in and out?" he asked, mildly awed. He looked at the Titty Twister's façade, the bright neon pink, the burning fires, the sounds of music and cries of merriment mingled with the smells of beer and illegal substances…and something else underneath it all, Xanny noticed. Something metallic that seemed to cling to the back of her throat.

"I was wearing…something," Augusta said.

"My rosary?" Xanny asked.

"Can't remember," Augusta slurred. Her hand went to her shirt, and she found nothing against her skin underneath. "Musta left it inside."

"Inside?" Xanny echoed. "You took my rosary and you left it in that…that _place_?"

"Don't get bent out of shape, Xan," Augusta said dismissively. "I'll get you a new one, I'll—"

Xanny let out a rather blasphemous expletive that she regretted later. "You are _unbelievable_!" she shrieked. "You are…how can you just…I don't know…!"

Gus looked at her coolly. "Get on your bike, Xan, and follow me. And then you'll see why I did what I did."

"Oh, yeah, right, you know where Seth is now," Xanny spat sarcastically. "Like he's the Wonderful Wizard of Oz…I don't give a shit, Gus, I want to know—"

"Well _I do_ give a shit," Augusta hissed, the first vehement sign of emotion she'd shown in this conversation. "And we're going to El Ray. So either shut up and follow me, or you can talk to the empty dirt." And Augusta revved up her bike.

Xanny snapped her mouth shut. _Fine_, she thought, _Gus wins for now_, but she knew nothing if how to regroup and attack twice as strong.

This wasn't the last of this conversation. But right now, they were after Seth. The very first hints of dawn were coming over the horizon, and quite frankly, the more she stood staring at the Titty Twister, the less she wanted to be around it. So she got on her bike and followed her twin. Come what may.

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Seth was drunk.

He hated it when he had the dream. _"Where's the woman?"_

_Ritchie looked at him in total innocence. "What woman?"_

"_What do you mean, what woman?" Seth cried. "The woman, the fucking hostage, Ritchie, where is she?"_

_Ritchie looked at the door. There was a blankness in his expression, and Seth felt the dread creeping into his gut. "She's in there."_

"_What the hell is she doing in there?" Seth barked, turned, and opened the door._

Blood.

Rape.

Death.

In real life, he had stood there, and felt his heart break. It had possibly been the worst moment of his life. He had seen so much, and to see this…it was almost more than he could bear.

Xanny had been right about Ritchie. She had tried to tell him, he hadn't listened to her. He'd known, all along, that she was right. He didn't feel surprise as he stood there, looking at the poor murdered woman who had suffered unspeakably before the peace of death finally claimed her. He felt such terrible disappointment. In Ritchie and in himself.

Seth was a creature of rage and euphoria, switching from one to another like a traffic light. But this had left him in a strange state of calm. The bitterness of it had actually made him capable of speaking, communicating to Ritchie in a clear, precise manner.

"_Is it me? Is it my fault?"_

_Ritchie, defensive, "No, it's her fault."_

_Seth, ignoring it, "Do you think this is _what I am_?"_

That was the worst -- the bond of blood. What was Ritchie's was Seth's, and the sickness in Ritchie…was it in Seth, too? Lurking in the corners, waiting for the right moment? Could he become this…parasite? Was this what people saw when they looked at him? Did this make them the same in the eyes of the world?

And he was ashamed. He was ashamed to call Ritchie family. That was unacceptable. Ritchie was all he had in this world, and Ritchie was completely…there just wasn't a word for the depth of his perversion.

Seth actually believed, for a moment, that beating Ritchie's head against the wall was enough to fix him. And then he went and drank until he felt like himself again.

In the dream, however, as he stood there, gaping at Gloria, something happened. Her battered, bloodied body began to change.

It wasn't her anymore. It was him. He was staring at himself.

He blinked. Now he was staring at Xanny.

He blinked again. This one was the worst: now he was staring at Augusta.

It was usually at this point that he woke up. And proceeded to attempt to drink until his brain could no longer process the images, and his mind was a comfortable blur.

It was always the last part of the dream that hurt the worst – seeing Augusta. He did not let himself think about her. Not if he could ever help it. Sure, he could think of Xanny, she had been a part of his past, a past that was over. Yes, he had unresolved issues when it came to her, but it did not think to her about her with the same kind of intensity and sharpness that it did to think about Gus.

Sweet, beautiful, devil-in-a-blue-dress Augusta. At first he had thought it was just her face, residual feelings from Xanny only in a fresher package. But getting to know her, Seth had felt like a moth hovering around a flame. There were dangerous things in Augusta, and while a criminal woman was no stretch of the imagination for him, she was different. She was dangerous in a way no law could ever capture.

So he didn't think about her. It hurt too much to even hear her name.

Now Seth was drunk, drunker than he could ever remember being. His thoughts were like trying to look through a glass smudged with honey – thick and smeared. Each whiskey – tequila took too long to haze his thoughts – brought him closer to that sweet oblivion, and somewhere in the back of his brain the danger signal went off. He couldn't pass out here, in the middle of the street – he'd wake up stripped naked. It wasn't like he had any money, but losing the clothes on his back was a humiliation he just couldn't tolerate. So he bought the bottle, slung it under his arm, and attempted to get onto his feet to get back to the hotel.

He got out the door of the bar, and was face to face with a vision.

Augusta was staring at him. Her hair was like freshly-fallen snow, her eyes bright and blue like a winter sky, her cheeks red like apples, and she was dressed in black leather from head to toe.

Seth blinked. He didn't believe what he was seeing. He had started hallucinating – he didn't know alcohol could do that. Acid, yes, booze, no.

"Seth?" the vision said, frowning at him. She reached out, one perfectly manicured hand, the color of her nail polish a perfect complement to the paleness of her complexion, and touched his arm, the one that still proudly bore the dragon tattoo.

"Seth?" she said again, stepping closer to her. Seth backed away; hallucinations could touch you, trick you into feeling them. He wasn't going to be sucked in.

"Hell, Gus, he's knocked off his ass," came another voice, rougher than the first but the same in pitch and tone. Seth felt a strange elevation of heart, just before he saw her.

"Xanny?" he said, his voice a slur of tongue and lips refusing to work correctly. He shook his head, stumbled toward her. "Xanny…"

He wanted to tell her. He wanted to tell her that she had been right. He had found out about Ritchie, at last, and that he was sorry he hadn't believed her. He wanted to tell her what he'd been through, what he had seen at the Titty Twister, about how she had been so right, all along, about all of it – her sudden belief in God, her turning from her wicked ways, everything.

Instead, all he could do was put his arms around her and hug her.

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Augusta watched as the man she had traveled the entire country for, staggered over to her sister, his ex-girlfriend, and embraced her.

To say she was not happy was an understatement of severe proportions. She was pissed to fucking hell.

She put her hands on her hips, so enraged that everything in her seemed to move in slow motion. Her frown was stuck, on her forehead and lips, and her eyes narrowed on her sister.

Xanny had the decency, at the very least, to look utterly perplexed. She looked up at Seth as he let go, and the grabbed his jaw, as he stupidly worked it, attempting to speak.

"Over there, asshole," she said in a nearly tender voice, and turned his face back to Augusta.

He looked at her, and blinked several times. "Gus?" he whispered.

She couldn't answer.

He managed to shuffle over to her, and was staring at her face so intensely…she didn't know why she suddenly wanted to punch him.

Then, unexpectedly, he grasped her arms and dove down, as if he wanted to kiss her. She jumped back, suddenly wishing she had never laid eyes on him. Feeling her face begin to contort under the threat of tears, she turned away and stomped off, to God-knew-where.

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Sands, who had quietly come up behind Xanny while the reunion was taking place, muttered under his breath, "Well, that went well."

Xanny watched her sister go, her mind spinning. Then Seth turned to her again, and it seemed that the shock of Augusta suddenly stalking away from him had startled a bit of sobriety back into his brain.

"You were right," he said to her.

She cocked her head to one side, waiting for something more specific.

"About Ritchie," he said. "I saw it myself. I saw what he did."

She blinked again. It had been so long since she'd even cared about that…but now, to have watched his bizarre reaction to Augusta, and then to himself, and to hear this confession, years too late, it filled her with a rage that was second only to what she'd just seen on poor Gus' face.

She balled up her fist and clobbered him, right across the jaw, and watched him fall into the dirt of the road.

"You always were a fucking idiot," she spat at him, attempting to go after her sister.

Sands and a man she didn't recognize – and she was too angry to pay attention to, quite frankly, at the moment – came up to Seth and looked down at him.

"Boy, you sure got a way with women," the unfamiliar one said.


	8. Surreal

Disclaimer: Hey, guys, look! I'm making soup! Seth and El Ray are owned by Tarantino and Rodriguez. Sands is owned by Rodriguez. Blackheart is owned by Marvel Comics. Alex Tully is owned by Fox, although they don't seem to want him. I do own Xanny, Augusta and Marcos (wherever the hell he went). And that's it.

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Eight: Surreal

Alex came looking for his new "partner," and it wasn't hard. Seth was a drinker, and there was only one place in town with alcohol cheap enough for his limited budget. As much as Seth pushed about getting his dead partner's share of his stash, Alex wasn't stupid. He didn't trust Seth Gecko, and with good reason. But he also knew he needed to get out of this town, possibly get back into the country, and he needed someone to watch his back.

When he came down to the bar, he saw Seth in the street, and two women with him. The first one he noticed was the one with hair as white as fresh bedsheets, and she looked vaguely familiar. He didn't realize the other one looked exactly like her until the white-haired one stomped away, obviously upset, and Seth turned to the other.

The other punched him in the face and stormed off after her twin.

Alex wanted to laugh, but he didn't. There was a strange man, who had been with the twins, standing over Seth and shaking his head.

"Boy, you sure got a way with women," Alex said as he approached. Seth pulled himself into a sitting position, his lip bleeding.

"I deserve that, I guess," Seth said, rather soberly, as he stood up. Considering he still smelled like a walking bottle of whiskey, he seemed to be thinking pretty straight. "You see where they went?"

"Sorry, I only saw you, laid out in the middle of the street. You and your new friend." Alex looked at the third man. He was slight, a good half-a-head shorter than either him or Seth, with a sheet of dark brown hair that was a bit on the greasy side hanging about his head. He looked like a man attempting to dress like a cowboy and only having watched old black-and-whites of the Lone Ranger as his basis for fashion. "Care to introduce us? Manners, and all."

"Would, if I knew who the fuck he was." Seth turned on the other guy. "So, who are you?"

"Sheldon Jeffrey Sands," the man replied, and did not extend his hand for the shaking. "Call me Sands." He said it very much like an order, not a requet.

"Really? I can't call you Sheldon?" Alex quipped.

"Not if you want to keep a bullet out of your forehead."

"And what exactly are you doing with my ex-girlfriend? Ex-girl_friends_," Seth added, emphasizing the plural.

Alex started. "You dated both of them?"

"Not exactly, but yeah," Seth said, and in his confusion it actually sounded modest.

"Huh. Well, I guess it's true, the girls all love a bad boy."

Sands laughed. "If you only knew. "

"All right!" came a shout across the empty street. It was getting onto the hottest part of the day and even El Ray observed a siesta. All three men turned to see one of the twins – this one without the white hair – charging back toward them. She was much rougher around the edges than the white-haired one, Alex noticed. The way she carried herself confirmed what Seth had said – she had a kind of strut Alex really only noticed in criminals. The other girl's walk had been much slinkier, although far from innocent. And the only kind of girls who ran with criminals were criminals themselves. "None of you move!" she looked at Alex. "Even you, although I don't know you, don't move anyway, I'm not in the mood for any more surprises."

"This is Alex Tully, my new partner," Seth said offhandedly. "Where's Gus?" he demanded of the woman.

"Gus?" Alex echoed.

"Augusta, her sister," Sands supplied. "And this is Alexandra, her twin sister, but everybody calls her Xanny."

"Shut up!" Xanny said. Alex noticed that her hair, a much darker blonde than her twin, was laced with streaks of blue that had probably once been much brighter. "Gus is gone!" she railed. "I don't know where, I turned a corner and it was like poof! Bike and all!"

"And you don't know where she went?" Seth sounded angry.

"Don't take that tone with me!" she shouted, meeting him toe to toe. "She wouldn't have run off if you hadn't been such a fucking idiot! And so help me God, she had better not have gone to where I think she's gone!"

"She can't get in, it's daylight, they bar it up during the day," Sands said.

"Bar what up?" Alex asked.

"The Titty Twister," the woman replied. And Seth went as white as Augusta's hair.

"What in the name of God were the two of you doing at the Titty Twister?" Seth roared at her.

Xanny glared at him, and pointed her finger, first at him and then at Sands, encompassing them in the same gesture. "_You two_ have got some serious damn explaining to do. What the hell were you rambling about before?" she asked Sands, stepping closer to him. "Some crazy nonsense about _vampires_?"

"You know about the vampires?" Seth said, looking at Sands.

"You too?" Xanny cried, throwing out her arms. "What the hell is it, the Mexican sun, makes everyone go completely nuts?"

"Before anybody else says a single word," Sands said, suddenly taking on a much more authoritative tone, "we need to get the hell off the street." He closed in on Xanny. "You don't talk about that out here, not in the open. Let's go inside."

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Augusta wasn't sure what she had expected from El Ray – barred gates, like a prison or a military compound had occurred to her imagination. She didn't think that it was the kind of place one could just walk in and out of, but she took a straight road back into the desert, and after a short distance, she pulled over and tried to get her head back on straight.

She didn't know exactly what to do. She just knew she wanted to be away. And she was sick and tired of these dirty places with their dirt roads and rundown bars and hostile stares. She wanted luxury – she had been raised in its lap and it was what she knew.

She looked around. And something in her sort of…clicked.

A remembered whisper in her ear, a touch on her skin. It was as if a map suddenly formed in her head. She knew where she was going to go.

She revved up the bike and was off.

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They sat in the bar, in a darkened corner, away from the crowd, who was ignoring them anyway. In the middle of the siesta, the bars were open, but few stayed to drink, preferring to sleep the hottest part of the day away.

Four of them at the table, Xanny across from the stranger, Sands on her right and Seth on her left. Her head was spinning. Before, all she could think about was that the last time she had seen Seth Gecko, it had been in a hotel room, and he'd had a gun pointed on her, and she on him, and it had all been in an attempt to rescue Augusta from him, whom he'd mistakenly kidnapped, understandably thinking that Augusta was Xanny. Things had not ended, as they say, on the right note. Now, things had gone from awkward to outright surreal.

She glared at them, one to the other. "You're both nuts," she said, meaning Seth and Sands. "There's no such thing as vampires."

Seth shook his head, but he was smiling humorlessly. "I thought so too, until one of them killed Ritchie."

"It's true, Xanny," Sands said. "They've been there for who-knows-how-long, and your friend Seth here managed to tear the heart out of their little headquarters when he and his brother holed up there about six months ago."

"You're still both nuts," the one named Alex said, scowling at them with almost the same intensity as she. Xanny glanced at him, and found that she liked him, if for no other reason than for the fact that he was backing her up. But there was no time for that now.

"And they killed Ritchie?" she said with a raised eyebrow, turning back to Seth. She studied his face – Seth was not generally a liar, when it came to her, but it was entirely possible he'd been driven crazy by his brother's death.

The fact that Ritchie was dead was a complete shock, to be honest. Xanny had always thought, deep down, that Ritchie would outlive Seth, simply because Ritchie was the quiet one, and therefore much more dangerous. Seth had a big mouth and a bad attitude, and tended to get himself caught up in fights much more regularly than Ritchie ever had. He was more likely to get killed in a barroom brawl. Ritchie, no doubt, would follow soon after. But for him to be dead, and worse, for Seth to claim it was the work of _vampires_…it was all she could do not to laugh at him.

"Yeah. But then he came back." Seth was completely serious, and there was no sign, nothing to make her think that he had gone nuts, as he spoke. "He was a fucking vampire, Xanny."

"So he's in the Titty Twister now, part of their gang?" she asked.

"No." Seth shook his head, and she swore to God she saw tears in his eyes. "No, I…I staked him. I killed him. He's dead."

Xanny took this news in, sitting for a moment in silence. Seth looked away, back at his beer, but he didn't drink it. There was no way, _no way_ on this planet that Seth would make something like this up. Not with that look on his face. And the truth slowly started to sink in.

"Wait," Alex said, "you're actually going to believe this?" He leaned across toward Xanny. "You're going to buy his story?"

"Seth is a bastard," Xanny said, meeting Alex's eyes. "But Ritchie was his brother. He wouldn't dishonor his memory by making this shit up. But Seth," she said, turning back to him, almost pleading, "vampires?"

"It's true," Sands said.

Xanny's head whipped around to him. "And you, CIA, you know about them? What, are you recruiting them or something?"

Sands frowned at her. "They're no good to us, they're little better than animals," he said. "We're not talking about Bella Lugosi here, or even Christopher Lee. These creatures are just animals, blood sucking animals. No control, no boundaries, not a single shred of rational thought."

"How, then?" Xanny asked. "How in the hell…where did they come from?"

Seth looked at Sands, as if expecting an answer. Even Alex held his tongue. Sands drew a deep sigh, and said, "We think from a creature named Blackheart."

"We?" Seth said. "You mean the government is interested in these fucks?"

"Hell no," Sands said. "We just like to be aware of other country's little quirks. But the only thing we've ever been able to come up with when it comes to intell is that they're all connected to a creature named Blackheart. He's at the heart of their nest."

"You keep saying creature," Xanny said. "What is this Blackheart, like a head vampire?"

"Like in _The Lost Boys_?" Alex muttered softly.

"No, he's not a man, although he looks like one. We don't know what he is, but he's not human." Sands drew a deep drag on the cigarette he'd been smoking. "The first one he made was a woman called Satanica Pandemonium."

Seth balked. He pushed away from the table, fury etched onto his face. "She was the first one?" he breathed.

Sands nodded. "Which is one of the reasons I agreed to help Augusta find you. You killed Satanica Pandemonium, didn't you? Which means you very likely have pissed Blackheart off. He could want revenge. I wanted to keep an eye on all of you at once, maybe it would even lead to finding out who this Blackheart person really was, but…"

"You mean we were bait?" Xanny said softly.

"Well, Seth was, really," Sands said. "But you and Augusta, you could attract Blackheart's attention, too. In order to avenge himself on Seth, he could want to use you." He explained all of this very rationally, irritating Xanny with his matter-of-fact manner.

"An eye for an eye," Alex said thoughtfully.

"That bitch is the one who bit Ritchie," Seth bit out, each word like a bullet. "I'm glad she's dead. I'd kill her a hundred times if I could."

"That's all very well," Sands said, humoring him, "but Blackheart is a lot worse than she could ever be. She could die from a stake to the heart – we don't even know _what_ Blackheart is, what could kill him, even if he _can_ be killed."

"But you have an idea, don't you?" Xanny said, reading Sands' face. "I can see it behind your eyes."

"Ah, an ex-con with the heart of a poet," Sands smirked at her. It was more like a leer. "But yes. The word _demon_ has been thrown around."

Everyone contemplated this for a moment. Then Seth turned to Xanny and asked, "So you think Augusta went back to the Titty Twister?"

"She didn't," Sands said, before Xanny could reply. "Like I said, it's closed during the day. Truth is, she could be anywhere. She looked pretty damn dazed when she came out of the Titty Twister last night—"

"She was in there _at night_?" Seth cried, then brought his voice lower down when the bartender looked at him. "And she came back out again?"

"Only one reason for it," Sands said, even as Xanny beat down her panic. "Blackheart was in there, and he made them leave her alone. He wanted her for himself. And somehow, he gave her your location -- that's how she was able to find you so directly. Which means he planned this. " Sands looked at Seth thoughtfully.. "Why did you go to Xanny first, Seth?"

Seth looked indignant. "I was drunk, I don't know—"

"You're still drunk," Alex muttered.

"No, you do know," Sands challenged, folding his arms and leaning on them across the table, eyeing Seth. "Why, Seth? Why did you want to see her first?"

"He apologized to me," Xanny spoke up. "For not believing me about Ritchie. What brought that on?"

"I have nightmares sometimes," Seth said, meeting Sands' eyes, but talking to Xanny. "I had one that morning. That's why I was getting drunk."

"Nightmares?" Xanny said, pulling his gaze toward her.

Seth drew a breath. "When we were hiding out in Texas, we had a bank teller hostage. I left her alone with Ritchie. When I got back to the hotel room, he had raped and murdered her. I saw what was left." His voice had started to tremble, and he stopped, drawing a breath to steady it. "And that's why I apologized to you."

Xanny stared at Seth. In all this commotion, she hadn't really contemplated the damage done to him by all of this. He was the Seth she knew, but more like a copy of a copy…he wasn't all there. Something had really affected him.

"Vampires?" she whispered.

"I had a life-changing experience in that place," Seth said, taking the first sip of his beer. "I always said God could kiss my ass, right? But now I've seen what hell looks like, and I don't want to go back there."

"Funny way of going about it," Alex said. "Killing my partner and all."

"That was self-defense, even you said it."

Suddenly, Xanny was laughing. "Oh, Seth, you are still unbelievable."

"We need to stick to the subject," Sands interrupted. "So Seth has a nightmare, and reacts to Xanny, causing Gus to get jealous. So Gus takes off." He rubbed his chin. "This is bad."

Xanny's head whipped back to him. "Bad? What do you mean?"

"It means it's very likely all this was set up."

"How can Blackheart set up me having a nightmare?" Seth demanded.

Alex interjected. "If he can make fucking vampires, you think he can't cause nightmares too?"

Xanny looked at him, surprised at his contribution. "You starting to buy this?"

"No, but it's logical, isn't it?" Alex replied. "I mean, obviously he's got some kind of powers, whose to say exactly what they are? In this situation, you can't take anything for granted."

"Right," Sands said. "So now Augusta, hurt and feeling rejected, takes off. Chances are, whatever Blackheart said to her to tell her how to get to Seth, he may have given her some kind of trigger, something to help her find him."

"So she's gone to _him_?" Xanny asked, puzzled. "But…then we don't have a _chance_ of finding her, we don't know _anything_ about this Blackheart or _where_ he might be."

"True," Sands said, looking at her. "But we have _you_."

"What?" Alex and Seth said at once, both sounding worried.

"We still have Xanny, and Xanny knows that Blackheart is dangerous. I'd never even mentioned Blackheart to Gus, and she had no idea what she was dealing with. But with you being Augusta's twin…that might make him want to come after you next. And when he does, we can track him back to Augusta."

"You mean you want to use Xanny as bait?" Alex demanded.

"No way," Seth declared.

"What do you want me to do, exactly?" Xanny asked. All three men looked at her, bewildered, until she said, "I want to find my sister. What do I have to do?"

"That," said Sands, "is actually a rather good question."

NEXT UP: What happened to Augusta!


	9. Fear

Disclaimer: Hey, guys, look! I'm making soup! Seth and El Ray are owned by Tarantino and Rodriguez. Sands is owned by Rodriguez. Blackheart is owned by Marvel Comics. Alex Tully is owned by Fox, although they don't seem to want him. I do own Xanny, Augusta and Marcos (wherever the hell he went). And that's it.

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Nine: Fear

There was another city, not too far away. In a few hours, Augusta had reached it, going at a good clip on her bike. And she managed to find a very nice, rather luxurious hotel on her first stop.

She checked in, got into a room, and took a very hot shower. When she came out, there was a very expensive black dress hanging in her closet. It was in her size.

Augusta felt compelled to put it on, and go downstairs to the hotel restaurant, thinking of nothing more than indulging in several bottles of wine and an expensive dinner. But there was something else…something in the back of her mind. All her movements felt far away, as if she were watching herself from a short distance.

When she got into the lobby, she felt herself slowing down. Something was pulling her…the bar, it seemed dark and inviting. The sun was setting, it was a clear evening, and the purple light was filtering through the crystalline windows, dancing in small rainbows against the marble floor.

It was a rich place, lush with deep leather and brass fixtures. It was mostly empty, except for a lone figure down at the end.

Even before she reached him, he turned, and she recognized him. From the Titty Twister. Only here, he seemed to fit.

She paused. "Hell…hello," she said, her voice trembling. It felt wrong, suddenly, to be here, to be standing in front of him. It made no sense, none at all, and yet….

"Hello, Augusta," he said, in that strange, echoing voice that seemed to vibrate through her. Here, in this place, it carried much farther, trembling off the walls, making the floor under her feet quiver. "You look good in my present."

"You…you had this sent to my room?"

He shook his head. "I put it there myself." He gestured to the seat beside him. "Sit."

Unable to help herself, she sat down, staring at him. She couldn't remember his name, and yet it didn't seem to matter. He seemed to defy naming – what could have fit him? He was unearthly beautiful, with pale, almost translucent skin, hair black as pitch, and eyes…his eyes…

"How did you know I'd be here?" she asked, struggling for some semblance of dignity.

His smile was wicked. "I read your mind."

She started. Narrowing her eyes, she stared harder at him, trying to find something, anything that gave him away. "So how did you get here so quickly?"

"I rode the wind."

She wanted to laugh, but couldn't – she believed him. He reached across the table, his hand open to her. Augusta noticed something glimmering on his pinkie – some kind of ring, but whether it was gold or silver, she couldn't tell. This struck her as strange, as she had never had problems identifying jewelry. It complemented his long, pale fingers beautifully, and she suddenly had another flash through her mind---

---_those fingers playing over her body, touching her in_---

She blinked, shivering. She felt cold, and suddenly afraid. And it felt good. It felt so bizarrely _good_…

She reached out and laid her palm over his, and he was as cold and lovely to touch as he had been to look at.

"Yes, you like the fear. You always have," he whispered to her.

She blinked, several times, trying to form words. "Blackheart," she moaned.

He stood, pulling her with him. She stepped forward, into his personal space, and while nothing touched him but her hand, she felt as if he had somehow wrapped himself around her. It was so cold, like standing in the middle of a snowstorm, but the wind had embraced her like a lover.

"What do you want?" she managed, pulling back to herself for just a moment, rising up from the drowning ocean for a gasp of air. "What do you want from me?"

"You know what I want, Augusta," he smiled at her, and it was more unnerving than his stare. "I want you."

Another pull…it was getting easier to think clearly. She took a step away from him, and it was an effort nigh to a moon pulling free of its planet's gravity. "Why me?" she said, and the more she spoke, the easier it became to speak. "I mean, yeah, I'm beautiful, so are a hundred other girls." Where had that come from? She'd never been one to compare herself to the pack…and still, it made sense. It sounded like something Xanny would say. That thought gave her strength.

He smiled, undaunted by her resistance. "Because of _you,_ Augusta. There is no one like you."

"Uh huh." She crossed her arms, which pulled her hand from his. That felt… disappointing. She tried to ignore it. "Yeah, that's a great line."

He chuckled. His smile reminded her of a crocodile. "Oh, yes, proud and vain as well as dangerous. You see, my sweet, it is not your beauty that draws me. Beauty means so little, and is only for surfaces." He started to circle around her, and she felt as if she were back against him again. She tried to move away, but only found herself stumbling.

"Beauty is only skin deep, you think I don't know that one?" she tried, but it felt weak.

"I think that you don't know what it is that has been holding you back for so long," Blackheart said, his voice a whispery purr. "Haven't you ever wondered? Your beloved twin…like you in so many ways. In more ways than you realize. She lived a life of crime, but eventually longed to change her wicked ways. You, however, have been living a secret life for so many years. And every moment, every thrill, was all for the fear. You're addicted to it, you know."

She scowled. "You think you know so much about me—"

"I know more than you're willing to admit about yourself," Blackheart said, pausing behind her. He leaned toward her, electricity buzzing between his chest and her back, his lips barely touching her ear. "You've always wondered…and you were right. You were the bad one, Augusta. You liked it more than she ever did. You were the smarter one, the more dangerous one. And your sister needs to see the truth, too."

Augusta felt pinned. It was true. Every instant of her life, every secret she kept, every risk she took, she had loved each and every moment of it. She felt no remorse, no pull to be good. Why had she ever stopped? Maybe it was Xanny's fault, she had distracted her. Maybe it was Seth…

"You liked being with him," Blackheart rumbled. "But don't confuse truth with fantasy. He was dangerous, like you. You saw a kindred spirit. Except he had the balls to do something about it, whereas you let your money hold you back."

She felt defiant. "I am who I want to be," she said. "Nobody controls me."

Blackheart smiled. "That's my bad girl, now," he crooned. "Can you find that Augusta? Does she still live inside you, waiting to come out?"

Augusta felt like she was holding her breath. And slowly, as her heart and her mind reached into those darker places, she realized she had been, all these months.

Before Seth came to her that day, in the bank, she had been a free spirit, doing what she liked, how she liked. Getting engaged to Marcos had been nothing, a cover, a dress she could put on and discard at a moment's notice. It had been a relief to hand him over to Xanny, but yet…nothing had come of it. She had been on hold, had been waiting.

Blackheart reached up, the backs of his fingers caressing her cheek. There was something piercing about his touch, as smooth and cool as his fingers were against her skin. Then, he walked around her, his hand turning over and his palm hovering a mere inch over her lips. She closed her eyes in an odd kind of anticipation. Gently, caressingly, his fingertips came down, brushing against her eyebrows, the lids of her eyes, then to her nose, out against her cheeks – she could feel his thumb up against the underside of her chin, tilting her face upward.

Her lips burned. She bit them, feeling terrible compulsions. The visions in her head were much harder to push away now. Things she couldn't voice danced in her head, things she couldn't bear to think about, even as she was thinking of them. And then she opened her eyes as she turned her head, and was looking at Blackheart so closely – his breath caressed her face, cooler and smoother than his skin.

"Yes," she whispered into him, her heat and his cold crackling together. "Yessss."

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It was a foul hotel. Xanny thought she wouldn't mind it at first, thinking she had stayed in worse places, but even by her standards this was fetid.

She paid cash to get in – they wouldn't take anything else, and even if they had, she wouldn't have dared give these men her credit card numbers – and found herself just a few doors down from Alex, Seth's new "partner."

Pacing her room, Xanny felt a profound sense of self-disgust. She had earned her living as a detective, and yet this was how she went about searching for her sister? She stopped pacing, stared at the door, and was about to go through it when someone knocked.

It was Alex.

"Thought you…uh…might need some ice," he said rather lamely.

Xanny crossed her arms. "Not ice," she said. "But do you have a map?"

A few minutes later, they were in Seth's room, Agent Sands with them, and Xanny had pushed the map of the general area so that it covered the rickety thing that passed for a bedside table. They were in the state of Chihuahua, and all the little towns were laid out in front of them like multi-colored bugs.

"The Titty Twister is North in Las Cuatas, not too far, maybe a few hours drive," she said. "So I suggest we take the other three directions – South, East and West. If we find her, use cellular phones to bring us all in, but if we don't find anything, I think we should go back to the Titty Twister at sundown. Sands, you know the area best, which of these places is the most built up?"

"San Mateo is too tame for Augusta," Sands said thoughtfully. "And Tres Castillos is too rough, not much better than here. It'd say it's most likely she went West, to El Tule. They have some nice hotels there. One of them is really nice, Ritz Plaza nice. It's not too far from the ocean so it's a big touristy place. But it's also three hours from here, the farthest away."

"She'd be drawn to that," Xanny said. "It's her comfort zone."

"What, is she a hotel heiress or something?" Alex remarked.

Seth gave him a dirty look. "Augusta Charlene Baxton. You honestly don't know that name?"

"Neither did you, Seth, when you first met her," Xanny said without looking up. "And yes, she's so fucking rich that she can afford to stay out of magazine and tabloids. All right, I'm going to take El Tule, then, see what I can find. Seth, you take San Mateo – you look like you could use the break. Sands, you take Tres Castillos. Unless you two want to trade," she said, giving them both looks.

"Yeah, let's trade," Sands said, although his voice was monotone. "I've got a contact in San Mateo I can talk to."

"I can handle my shit," Seth said in his "I'm cool" voice.

"What about me?" Alex asked.

"Figured you'd go with Seth," Xanny replied. "Since you're partners and all."

"No, you need a fast car to get to El Tule and back by sundown, if it's as far away as Sands says."

"Wait a minute, go to the Titty Twister at sundown?" Seth barked. "Are you suicidal?"

Xanny shook her head. "It makes sense. Augusta met Blackheart at the Titty Twister. Satanic Pandemonium's stomping ground was the Titty Twister. He'd take Gus there if he had the chance, it's full circle, and the most obvious way to get your attention."

Sands nodded. "But Alex is right, you need a faster ride than your Harley."

"My Harley goes fast enough," Xanny argued.

"Let Seth take it," Sands said. "You can afford another if he crashes it. You can handle a Harley, can't you, Seth?"

Seth gave Sands a very dangerous look, but Xanny snapped her fingers to bring them back to the situation. "Fine," she said, tossing Seth the keys, "take my Harley, I'll ride with Alex, I need time to think, anyway. Your car pretty fast, Alex?"

"Pretty damn fast," Alex said, without a hint of boasting. "Fast enough to get you there and back when you need to be."

"Well, I'm not going back into that place," Seth started to say, when Xanny gave him a livid look, "without a serious mess of protection. There ain't a church here in El Ray, is there one in Tres Castillos?"

"Here, take this," Xanny said, handing Seth the scapular that Sands had given her before. "I'll get my rosary when we go back to the Titty Twister. Now everybody shut up and get moving. You know who you're looking for, and how to find her—"

"How?" Alex asked.

"Follow the trail of shiny things," Sands said dispassionately before he headed out the door.

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1 -- A/N: Yeah, yeah, me again. The trio of cities, El Tule, Tres Castillos, and Las Cuatas, which is where I decided the Titty Twister would be, to surround a little city called El Rayo (yes, with an "o" on the end) on a map of the Mexican state of Chihuahua. However, I am taking serious liberties as to the nature of these towns – and I completely made up San Mateo. No offense meant to anyone familiar with these towns in any way. I even downloaded a map online and made some notations, even mapped out the possible route (and I loosely mean "mapped) of where Seth and Ritchie crossed the border from Texas into Mexico, and even drew a few arrows where they would have gotten off the main highway and gone in the direction of Las Cuatas, where I put the Titty Twister.

I HAVE WAY TOO MUCH TIME ON MY HANDS!!!!


	10. Drive

Disclaimer: Hey, guys, look! I'm making soup! Seth and El Ray are owned by Tarantino and Rodriguez. Sands is owned by Rodriguez. Blackheart is owned by Marvel Comics. Alex Tully is owned by Fox, although they don't seem to want him. I do own Xanny, Augusta and Marcos (wherever the hell he went). And that's it.

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Ten: Drive

Xanny stared out the window.

Alex was an impressive driver, and his car was fitting. Sleek and low to the ground, but not too sporty, it was a great getaway car. If he and Seth ever did go into business together, it would be a good pairing.

He knew how to drive, too, and the car seemed to float over the dirt roads. Scenery whipped past her, but she wasn't really concentrating.

She just kept thinking about Augusta.

It was bad enough to think of Augusta with Seth. Seeing him again, Xanny was quite sure it wasn't jealousy. It was worry. She knew that Augusta had an entire life that no one knew about – except her, and now Xanny was starting to wonder how much she had been told.

But this Blackheart…not a man, but something worse. What then…a demon? She knew they were real, as much as others preferred not to believe in such things. And Seth…the look on his face, as he had talked about vampires. Vampires! If _they_ were real, who knew what other myths actually walked the Earth?

Still…that was only the tip of the iceberg. This trip she and Augusta had taken had been for several motives – Xanny's own need to get away from Marcos, Augusta's search for Seth, but neither of them had spoken the one deep down, hidden by the camaraderie and laughter.

This trip had been about the two of them getting closer. Xanny had sensed their slow drift apart, and she had an innate feeling exactly why it had happened.

It was because of things like the Rosary.

It was no secret that Xanny had been trying to clean up her life, and more importantly, her soul. The "straighten up and fly right" motto of most ex-cons was something that stretched much farther back with her. Even during her tail-end days with Seth, she had felt a pull on her, something unfathomable and wide, taking her away from everything in the world she thought she knew.

Prison had been an excuse to purge. And after prison, she had been able to come into the Church with a clean conscience, and had lived out her humble penance in an apartment she paid for with money from a legitimate job. Sure, her criminal background was considerable, and extremely useful. But it was like a set of tools – to be used, indifferently.

Ever since that day she had been officially welcomed into the Baxton clan, Xanny had sensed that Augusta was shocked to find her ex-criminal twin was a goody-two-shoes. And it was even worse to realize, as the weeks stretched into months, that Augusta was _disappointed_ . She had expected much more from her new twin, things she wasn't getting. And it disturbed Xanny to think that she may have been the "good" one in their identical twin-ship. It hurt even worse to think that after all these years of being alone, the brief hope that she wasn't, was being ripped out from under her. It was bad enough to lose Marcos, but to lose Gus too…it was unbearable.

"So," Alex said after a time of silence, wanting to make friendly conversation with his passenger, and also finding her sincerely attractive, which was something he hadn't quite expected to find during his time in El Ray, "you…and Seth…?"

She lifted up her head from where it rested on her hand, and turned to look at him. She blinked, absorbed the question, and then said, "Once upon a time, a long time ago, yeah. But not anymore."

"But you were, once," Alex said, and Xanny wondered if he was just confirming it in his own mind, or if he was trying to pry. Considering that she rather liked him, she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"He and Ritchie and I used to rob banks, and pretty much anything else where we could make a good buck. It used to be a lot easier, everything was cash-centered, not this electronic shit nowadays. I'm pretty sure Seth and Ritchie were just doing banks. Before coming down here, of course."

"So how did you three wind up parting ways?" He realized what he'd asked, and amended. "I'm sorry, I'm not trying to be nosy, it's just I kind of feel like a fish out a water, dropped into the middle of this drama, and I'd kind of like to get my footing."

Xanny nodded. She wasn't hiding any big secrets anyway. She decided to be blunt. "Well, Ritchie Gecko was the worst kind of pervert – he liked to rape and murder women. One time, I wound up walking onto the scene after he just got finished, and when I tried to tell Seth he wouldn't believe me."

"He didn't see it for himself?" Alex asked, shocked.

Xanny shook her head. "Ritchie knew what was coming. He cleaned up before I could show what he'd done to Seth. So it was his word against mine and Ritchie won. So I left."

"Just like that." Alex snapped his fingers.

"Not even close," Xanny chuckled. "No, it was rather ugly. Seth…sometimes he just doesn't know what he wants. Or rather, he wants his proverbial cake and to eat it, too, and when he can't have it, he goes a little nuts. I wound up serving some jail time…but when I got out, it was all the straight and narrow path for me from thereon in."

"So Seth still has…he still has feelings for you, then."

"Then, maybe. Now, I'm pretty sure he was all eyes for my sister."

"From what I saw back in town, I wouldn't be so sure. But how did he get involved with your sister? And isn't that a little…"

"Under normal circumstances, yeah, it would be, but Seth wound up kidnapping my sister during a bank robbery, thinking she was me. So my boss at the time, I was working for a private detective, he goes to offer his help, and mine, and the family sort of flipped out when they saw me. Turned out I was taken away when I was very young, and it was an unexpected reunion of sorts."

"Taken?"

"Kidnapped." Xanny paused, rolling over her thoughts. "Raised by a welfare-class family that couldn't have kids of its own. I think they thought I'd get some ransom, but they weren't very bright, so they wound up having to raise me as their own. And trust me, God knew what he was doing when he made that woman barren. Or was that man sterile? I can't remember."

"God, that's awful."

Xanny nodded. Her early years were not often up for discussion. And this was how it had happened before – chasing after Augusta, and falling in with some nice guy who seemed to take an honest interest in her. Well, no thanks, she had been there, done that, got the friggin' T-shirt, and she wasn't up for round two, more of the same. "Let's just say I was really, really young when I hooked up with Seth. I never graduated from high school. He was older, he was cool and sleek and tough, what chance did a girl like me have? I learned just about everything I know about the world from Seth and Ritchie Gecko. But they don't give diplomas for _that_." She chuckled. "But I finished my G.E.D. in prison and did a few college courses. I was wanting to get back into that before Gus dragged me into this."

"Gus?"

"Augusta, my sister."

Alex nodded, and seemed ready to ask more questions, but Xanny was done talking, and while it might have been nice to switch the subject to him, and find out about _his_ story, she just didn't want the temptation. The less she knew, the better. "Look," she said, keeping her tone polite, "I really appreciate you doing this, helping us out, but I meant it before when I said I needed time to think. I'm not trying to be rude, I just…have to get some thoughts straight."

"I understand," Alex said, but there was an undertone of hurt that she ignored with an effort.

"I appreciate it." She flashed him one of her brightest smiles, and settled her cheek back on her hand and watched as the Mexican desert whished past her.

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Augusta – a fitting name, he might allow her to keep it – rolled over, her cheeks flushed, her skin quivering in odd places. Her eyes were pressed shut and her eyelids were furiously rolling back and forth. Her lips were parted and dry from her panting, but very, very red, and Blackheart could see the pulse in her throat, frantic and thready.

Blackheart sat on the bed quietly, fingers pressed together between his knees, undisturbed by Augusta's tremors and quakes. She would not die, not yet, although she may wish it. He still needed her, needed her as herself. Which was a risk, because it could backfire, and he could lose them both.

Blackheart smiled. He doubted that would happen. Augusta was deep in his thrall, and the other, well, she had already tasted the fruit once, and knew how sweet it was. She was not that strong – she relied too much on herself, and pride was so delicious.

Memories were easy to come and go. Satanica – although that had not been her name at the time – had been a bit harder to tame than this creature, as she was not the subservient type. Rather, her human self had been rebellious and cantankerous, but that all changed when she surrendered.

Because simply put, she was not who she was anymore. A shell remained. A new host dwelled in the house.

Normally, Blackheart would not care when she died, as long as she did so in the right state, but this one was different. This one shared blood with another, a woman who also was close to Gecko. One beautiful woman was a prize, but two were treasure, and he was a greedy being. Problem was, the other was not weak like this one. The other knew him already, had already walked the wide path and had seen fit to leave it. And while those kind were a bit harder to bring over, they tasted that much sweeter, having known the truth and then betrayed it.

"Augusta," he said, his echoing, distorted voice washing over her like a caress. She let out another moan, and her eyes snapped open.

"Huh…hu…he...here. I'm here. Yes?"

"It's time to get up, Augusta."

Her moan was disappointed. How these mortals infected themselves, lashed themselves, and yet still begged for more. It was hard not to indulge in his delight, but it would be better later, he knew, after his plan succeeded.

She rolled over and scooted closer to him, and he turned and leaned back so that she might enter his lap, like a pet cat. Then wrapped her arms around his lower torso, so that she could rest her cheek against his chest and gaze up at him in worship. He reached out and stroked her like a pet, his fingers running down her spine and back again, until they entwined in the hair at the back of her head in a nearly-painful grip, pulling her closer to him, where he breathed his cold breath on her ruby-red lips.

"Your sister is coming," he whispered to her, and she twitched in ecstasy as his mouth hovered millimeters away from her ear. "I want her to join us."

Her eyes opened, and he saw jealousy there. It was beautiful, but it was not useful. "But you're mine," she whimpered. "I don't want…to share you."

"Hmm, poor Augusta." His hold on her tightened, bringing her face almost evel with his, and she sucked in her breath. "Of course I wouldn't dream of making you share me. But you promised to serve me, and this is my will."

She sighed, and the pout receded. "Yes, I did. But shall I always be first, Blackheart?"

"Yes, you shall be first," he said, running his lips along her cheek as he spoke, until he was at her ear, and all the color from her face drained until she was as pale as her hair. "And as my first, I shall share her with you."

After a thoughtful moment, a smile curved at Augusta's lips. She gazed into Blackheart's beautiful, angelic face, and then without further argument, he released her, and she got up and headed for the hotel lobby.


	11. Shiver

Disclaimer: Hey, guys, look! I'm making soup! Seth and El Ray are owned by Tarantino and Rodriguez. Sands is owned by Rodriguez. Blackheart is owned by Marvel Comics. Alex Tully is owned by Fox, although they don't seem to want him. I do own Xanny, Augusta and Marcos (wherever the hell he went). And that's it.

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Eleven: Shiver

Seth was so fucking happy to be out of El Ray, he could hardly contain himself. He hardly thought about the fact that he was riding Xanny's motorcycle – Xanny, who would have murdered him if he so much as put a fingerprint on her prized bike back in the old days. But as the euphoria slowly wore off and he drew closer to his destination, he realized what he was going to be doing.

He was going back to the Titty Twister.

A part of him felt a savage kind of anticipation. Knowing full well what he was walking into, he could be ready for it. He knew how to hurt these bastards, these monsters from hell. The other part was drop dead terrified, and that part he would never admit to anyone except himself.

Briefly, his mind went to Kate. Poor Kate, who had lost as much as he had, probably more. He knew his own path, where it would lead, but she…she was innocent. Her mother was dead, her father was dead, her adopted Chinese-Japanese-whatever-the-hell-ese-he-had-been brother was also dead. She was alone, and God-knew if she'd ever made it back to the States. Still, he was glad that she wasn't with him now. As tempted as he had been to take her up on her offer to come with him, it had been wrong, even to his warped sense of morality. He was glad she wasn't here.

It was this Blackheart guy that filled most of his suddenly-worried mind. So he wanted revenge for what he'd done to that Satan bitch, right? Well, he could come take it, then. Seth had swiped a scythe through his den of demons and he would put one through him, too, given half a chance.

But to go after Augusta…simply because Seth loved her, and by extension go after Xanny, too, _that_ was diabolical. And if he was connected to the vampires, then Xanny was probably right. He was probably some kind of demon.

Seth felt guilty about his reaction to Augusta, seeing her in that place. He'd thought she was some kind of delusion, hadn't realized she was real for just long enough to piss her off.

His anger at himself was enough for him to push Xanny's bike into making it into Tres Castillos very quickly, and just as the sun finished riding its peak through the sky.

Seth was tired, he was hot – the tail end of the siesta had been blistering enough on the open road, and not even being stripped down to his wifebeater and Xanny's helmet had helped – and all he wanted was something cold to drink.

There was money in one of the compartments on Xanny's bike. Seth took it without hesitation, knowing that she could damn well afford it, and went into the first bar he could find.

To anyone else's eyes, the bar was a dump, a festering sore on what could have been a beautiful desert landscape. But to Seth, who had spent most of the last six months in hell, it looked like an oasis in said desert landscape. He went straight up and ordered a beer.

Before leaving El Ray, Xanny had given Seth a picture of Augusta. He had not taken it out of his pocket nor looked at it at all. He didn't want to see it – it would just make it harder to stay focused. But now, he it was time.

"Hey," he called to the bartender. The man shuffled over – he was bald, with a dark beard quickly turning white, and built like an eggplant – small on top and wide on the bottom. Still, he had muscles on his arms that could easily have snapped Seth in half, so he didn't want to screw with him. "You seen this girl?"

The bartender's face was impassive as Seth slid the picture along the bar, closer to the man. His eyes flicked down and then back up again at Seth.

Seth realized he'd spoken English. He repeated the question again in Spanish. The man didn't even look back at the picture again. He just shook his head.

"Know anybody who might?" Seth asked, also in Spanish.

The bartender looked down at the glass he was cleaning – it seemed that bartenders rarely had anything else to do – then back up at Seth. It seemed, if Seth tilted his head and squinted his eyes, that the guy was thinking.

Then, after a pause so long Seth thought he was going to have to repeat himself, the man replied one word.

"Padre."

It was Spanish for father. It could mean anything, Seth realized – the bartender's father, his own father, some kind of local godfather figure…

Or it could mean a priest.

Seth felt a shiver up his spine. He wasn't sure where it came from, but suddenly he thought of Jacob. Jacob whom he had respected, admired, even genuinely liked. He found himself wishing, during the brief time he had known him, that he would have been lucky enough in his life to have a father like Jacob.

But Jacob hadn't been a priest, he'd been a preacher. A non-practicing preacher at that, until the end.

"Padre?" Seth echoed.

In Spanish, the man said, "There's an old priest, a hermit, somewhere about 20 miles west of here. Don't know exactly where, some people say his home moves from place to place. But lots of people go to him to ask questions."

"Like a dali-llama or something?" Seth questioned, confused.

The man shrugged. "Go see him, ask him how to find your friend."

Scowling, Seth flipped the picture over, and looked at Augusta's face. It didn't make sense. First of all, there was no way this guy, this priest, could know anything about Augusta. And yet this jerk was telling him to go there?

Disgusted, Seth tossed down some pesos on the bar-top, gave a sarcastic thank-you, and headed back out into the street. He spent almost two hours going up and down, showing people the picture, almost getting hit once or twice, and almost slugging others about three times, until he wore himself out, got back on the bike, and headed back to El Ray as he had promised. The sun set behind him all the way, stretching the long arms of its rays along the horizon, turning the sky before him a dusky shade of indigo. He looked, as he drove, for anything resembling a place where a hermit might live, but he didn't see anything, and he didn't mention it to Sands when he got back. Or, to be more fair, he didn't have time to decide not to mention it, because of what met him.

Alex Tully was roaring past him, down the road, in his very fast car, and didn't even slow down as he waved his hand out the window and screamed, "SAN MATEO!"

Confused, Seth watched for a moment as Alex sped past El Ray, not turning to go inside, but instead going farther West. Seth noticed that there was no one in his passenger seat, when Xanny should have been riding shotgun. Then, feeling that same strange shiver in his spine from before, he revved up the bike and took off after them.

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Xanny's Spanish had never been great, but she recognized the word "Grande," in the title of the hotel, and knew it was appropriate. The thing was made like a gothic castle, which was unusual in itself in this part of the world, but it had distinctive American touches that screamed "tourist trap."

"Just pull up," Xanny said, "and we both get out. Hand the keys to the valet. Act like you belong here."

"I don't, though," Alex muttered, although he did follow orders. Xanny got out first, flashing the valet her best smile and handing him a twenty. Then with a toss of her hair over her shoulder and a wiggle in her backside, she headed straight through the main doors, calling behind her cheerfully, "Come on, honey!"

Alex quickened his step.

The inside was even more impressive than the outside – all white marble and gleaming crystal, giant heaps of fresh flowers in large marble basins upon round marble tables, richly upholstered furniture, and a front desk that seemed to stretch for miles.

Xanny spoke English. It was a mark of how fine this hotel was that the clerk that the desk didn't even blink, but spoke in a very faint accent in reply.

"Good evening," Xanny said. "My name is Alexandra Baxton, and I'm looking for my sister, Augusta Baxton."

"Good evening, Ms. Baxton," the clerk replied. "Are you sure that your sister is checked into this hotel?"

"Quite certain," Xanny replied. "She's very hard to miss, actually – she looks exactly like me, only she has white hair."

The clerk blinked –a beautiful Latino lady who couldn't have been more than Xanny and Augusta's own age, with long dark hair swept into an elegant twist along the side of her head, and in a neatly tailored dusky gray suit – and then checked the computer.

"I'm terribly sorry, Miss Baxton, but your sister is no longer at this hotel."

It was Xanny's turn to blink. "But she _was_ here?" she asked.

"Yes, she checked out only a few hours after she checked in."

"A few hours?" Alex muttered behind her. Xanny's head spun. Why would her sister come here, check in, and then turn around and check out? It didn't make sense.

"Did she ask for a cab, or anything?"

"No, ma'am. In fact, checkout was all done by telephone. I don't recall seeing her leave." The clerk looked a bit embarrassed. "I must confess, when you came in, I thought you might be her, and didn't catch the difference in name changes at first. When you asked about your sister, I mean."

Xanny drummer her fingers against the marble countertop. Only a few hours…"Her motorcycle. She must have left it with the valet when she first came in. Alex," she said, spinning around, "go see if her motorcycle is here. It'll look exactly like mine. And tip the guy—" she added, handing him a few twenties, "or he won't tell you anything."

Alex looked hesitant, but he took the money and went to do his job. Xanny almost followed him, but when she glanced up, she caught sight of the hotel restaurant.

"After she checked in," Xanny asked, preparing a twenty in her palm – even if the clerk was being very gracious to her, there was no telling when wheel-grease was needed – "did she come back to the lobby at all? Go to the restaurant?"

"I believe she did," the woman, whose name-tag read "Sophia," said.

"Thank you," Xanny said. She pushed away and headed for the restaurant, and as soon as she entered, she was struck by the fact that the place was completely and utterly empty.

It was nearly the dinner hour – people should at least have been enjoying drinks, or milling about, enjoying the sunset, which was just starting out the high windows. Instead, everything was laid out, but immaculate, untouched. She looked around, walked deeper into the place, and called out:

"Gus?"

As if on cue, she felt a pair of arms go around her shoulders. "Xanny!" a familiar voice cried. "I'm so glad you could join us!"

Xanny spun around, even as the grip tightened. The result was Xanny got stuck sideways in Augusta's arms, but was far enough to see that her twin was extremely, alarmingly pale.

"Gus, thank God," Xanny breathed. "Are you all right? We've all been crazy worried—"

"Oh, don't be," Augusta replied, smiling brightly at her sister, not easing her grip at all. "I've never been better."

Xanny scowled at her. "Then why did you just take off like that? We…I mean…Seth," she said, suddenly finding it a bit harder to talk in a straight sentence, her thoughts becoming less linear by the moment, "Seth has been looking for you, too. He didn't mean anything by it, Gus, he was drunk, he was so drunk and depressed over Ritchie dying, and he felt he owed me an apology. You can understand, we still have a few unresolved issues – remember, he kidnapped you, thinking you were me!"

Augusta had settled her chin right at the tip of Xanny's shoulder, which wasn't entirely comfortable for Xanny. She was looking up into Xanny's face, and her expression was not unlike a teacher exuding patience with a difficult child of whom she was fond.

"Relax Sis," she said in an almost husky voice. "You were right, about Seth, you know. He's nowhere good enough for me. I need much, much better."

Xanny let out her breath. She frowned down at Augusta, and then said, "As thrilled as I am that you finally came to this conclusion, maybe you could have done it before we left the country?" And she giggled, even as Gus giggled with her.

"Sorry about that," Augusta cooed, "but if I had, I never would have _met_ the _right_ guy."

"The right guy?" Xanny echoed. "Gus, you've been here what, two and half, three hours? Pretty fast work, isn't it?"

"Oh, maybe," Augusta said mysteriously, "but once you meet him, you'll like him, too. He's pretty irresistible."

Now Xanny was scowling. Augusta had not even slackened her hold. In fact, if anything, it got tighter, as if she were anticipating Xanny attempting to get away.

"I can't wait," Xanny said, a bit deadpan.

"You won't have to," said a new voice. Xanny's head whipped around, and she saw a man, dressed to the nines in clothes she could hardly comprehend, walking toward them, as if all the tables and other furniture in the room had just parted for him.

Something about him…the paleness, almost blue tinge to his skin, or the shape of his features, abruptly registered into recognition in Xanny's brain.

"Blackheart," she whispered.


	12. Escape

Disclaimer: Hey, guys, look! I'm making soup! Seth and El Ray are owned by Tarantino and Rodriguez. Sands is owned by Rodriguez. Blackheart is owned by Marvel Comics. Alex Tully is owned by Fox, although they don't seem to want him. I do own Xanny, Augusta and Marcos (wherever the hell he went). And that's it.

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Twelve: Escape

"Blackheart," Xanny said, realization dawning.

Blackheart paused momentarily in his confident stride. "Very good." His voice had a strange, distorted quality behind it that was eerie and exciting at the same time. "You've obviously been speaking to Agent Sands."

"You know about him?" Xanny asked, suddenly realizing that her sister was holding her firmly in place. She refused to panic – as long as she had good proximity to Gus, she could at least protect her after she'd beaten her off.

"I know about everyone," smirked the demon as he approached. "Few things are hidden from me."

Xanny snorted. "Oh _yeah_, you're all powerful, I _bet_." She shook her head. "Well, whatever spell you've cast on my sister, it won't work on me."

Blackheart had reached her by now, and he raised his hand, running the tips of his fingers along her neck, making intimate patterns with his fingertips, drawing her face level with his. Xanny felt dizzy, her brain swimming, suddenly filling with pictures she couldn't sort out—

She gasped. Sexual images danced through her imagination, sending jolts to parts of her body that she struggled against. She slammed defenses into place, muttering prayers, but nothing would cohere, and her will, usually so strong, suddenly felt rubbery, unstable.

He was closer to her now – she could feel his breath on her skin, and the tip of his nose brushed deliberately and slowly against the line of her jaw. She swore his mouth was going to her neck, and she knew at that moment that she had to get loose, had to break Augusta's hold on her somehow, before this creature touched her any further.

More images in her brain. She and her sister, entwined like lovers…Seth crawling on the floor, maddened with laughter and pain…Alex Tully at her feet, naked as a newborn and cowering like a dog…Marcos on his knees, with his nude back exposed and willing as her throne…

"NO!" Xanny screamed, lurching against Augusta. By now she felt Blackheart's hand on the back of her neck, holding her in place with a strength that no human could posses in just a singular grip.

Blackheart's mouth was open, she could feel the change in his breath. His tongue snaked along her jugular, back and up against the underside of her ear. His teeth closed on her lobe.

"STOP!" she bellowed, lurching again. She felt Augusta's grip loosen, but Blackheart's other arm snaked around them, pulling Augusta closer and pressing Xanny between them. There had to be a way…

"Don't fight me, Alexandra," purred Blackheart, and she felt as if a thick, sweet perfume of her favorite fragrance had suddenly exploded into a cloud around her head. It was difficult to think, to even _breathe. _"You can't win, you know. Are you wiling to run away, to abandon your poor, weak sister to my wicked clutches, just to save your own miserable soul?" She could feel his eyes blazing into her, burning holes through her cheek, but she wouldn't look at him, something told her not to, no matter what.

He was kissing her neck now, lightly and delicately, and it seemed he knew her vulnerabilities, and was dancing over them repeatedly, beating her down. He gripped her chin and pulled her face toward him. She screwed her eyes tightly shut.

"NO," Xanny said, pushing all her remaining force into her voice. "I reject you! Get away from me, demon!"

His hand was on her back, touching her. She caught her breath at the familiarity of his caress. "So old fashioned," he scoffed. "You think those old dusty pieces of myth have any power over me?"

Xanny reached up to pry his fingers off her chin, and then sucked in her breath again, this time from the sudden and sharply piercing cold that came from his hand. It was like trying to grab a piece of frozen metal.

"So now I'll have you both," Blackheart gloated, still in that bedroom tone, "one to warm each side. You were born for this fate, Alexandra…you knew you always belonged to me, always."

"GO BACK TO HELL!" Xanny cried with one final screech, and she slammed the hell of her toe, with all her might, down on Augusta's foot. Her sister squealed, and her grip slackened just enough that Xanny pushed forward, away from the invading hand at her backside. Xanny bore down, ducking under Blackheart's arm across her chest, and took off at a dead run toward the door. She tried to grab Augusta's arm as she went, but was met with a flurry of struggling, arms slapping her away. One clobbered her across her face, stunning Xanny for a moment.

"Let go!" Augusta yelped. "Let me go!"

Xanny, thinking her twin had just momentarily lost her mind, yanked harder, but it was like trying to drag a boulder up a hill. She felt Blackheart's hand closing over her shoulder, felt the cavernous and biting cold start to seep into her limbs again, and did the only thing she could do.

She ran.

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Alex was coming back into the hotel. He'd found the motorcycle, and felt a strange sense of urgency suddenly come over him about this whole thing. Aside from wondering what the hell he'd gotten into, there was also the fact that he was driving with the most beautiful woman he'd ever known in his life, and that he'd gotten out of a place that could have potentially sapped the soul out of him. All in all, upon rational regrouping of thought, he didn't have much to complain about.

Still, if there was something Alex hated, it was not being in control.

He had never much liked being a getaway driver – it was the best and most financially lucrative use of his extreme talents, so he did it. He had been a racer a long time ago, but that path was closed to him now, and the thought of not being behind a wheel for the rest of his life…well, that was like death.

Once upon a time, he had fallen in love, given it all up, come back to the real world and lived a real, happy life. Another race turned that life into shit. It only made sense that he wound up back on his old path again, although with considerable less enthusiasm this time. And until he'd fallen in with Seth Gecko and his cast of colorful characters, he'd been wondering if that live was even worth living at all.

So when he saw Xanny stumbling toward the entrance of the hotel restaurant, looking as if all the blood had been drained from her body, he felt a genuine rush of alarm. He charged forward and caught her, thoughts of telling her about the bike vanished from his mind.

She slapped into him rather hard, considering she was flailing about a bit. At the head of the impact, she sprawled, sinking in his arms, her feet unexpectedly unable to keep their grip on the floor. He grasped her, pulling her closer, upright. "What the hell?" he managed.

"Hell," Xanny groaned, and then passed out.

Alex grabbed her up into his arms, even as he saw the black figure approaching from the hotel's extremely expensive and rich-looking restaurant. Catching only a glimpse of silver-blonde hair behind the approaching man, if that's what he was, Alex carried Xanny at a dead run back out into the parking lot.

The valets weren't there. He turned toward the key box, only to find it empty. Swearing to make sailors blush, he took off toward where he knew his car was parked – he'd seen it not four cars away from the motorcycle that matched Xanny's. Then he set the limp woman down against the hood, picked up a rock and slammed the driver's side window open.

The man in black was pursuing, but at a leisurely pace, as if he knew full well his prey couldn't get away. Alex wanted to say something smart, but knew damn well he didn't have time. He got the back door open, picked Xanny back up and set her across the backseat, and then got into his car.

It was his car, his baby – and he could always start it, no matter what. He reached up for the visor, and found the emergency key where he always kept it, wedged behind the small metal frame of the mirror behind the visor. It took him a second to pull it out.

The man in black – _this has_ got _to be Blackheart_, Alex thought to himself – leaned down and gazed through the glass of the passenger door. Suddenly the glass fogged, cracked, and then shattered.

Alex started the engine and slammed it into gear. It groaned at the impact, but obeyed its master – he floored the accelerator and metal ground against metal as he tore his way out of the parking lot, leaving damaged cars behind him.

Xanny was rich, he thought humorlessly as he left the man in black behind them. She could afford the damages incurred in saving her life.

On the road, Alex's brain unclenched and he could think again. First thought: Where the hell did he go? He waited until he was a good several miles out from the city before pulling the car over to the side and starting a respectful yet justifiably frantic search of Xanny's person. Upon finding her cell phone, he scrolled through her numbers. He pressed the talk button for the one marked "Sands."

It rang once. Sands immediately picked it up. "Hello?"

"I've got an emergency," Alex huffed. "Something's happen to Xanny."

"What's happened?" Sands had a droll voice – it hardly changed tone at all.

"We ran into that Blackheart guy at a hotel in ," Alex explained hurriedly, even as he started up the car again and got it back on the road. He glanced in the rearview – no pursuit. Somehow, he had expected the other woman, Augusta, to follow, but the empty road was disturbing. "I don't know what happened, but Xanny's unconscious."

As if on cue, Xanny started to twitch. Her breathing became erratic and heavy – great clouds of something, like someone breathing heavily on an extremely cold day, burst from between her lips. And now that Alex looked at her again, she was no longer white – she was quickly turning a purplish gray.

Sands swore over the line, spoke to someone he was with in a way that indicated his company did not like Sands swearing, and then said, "Bring her to San Mateo. There's a Catholic church here as you enter town, the only one. Bring her here, as fast as you can. How fast is that?"

"Pretty damn fast," Alex said. "But what about Seth? He's expecting us in El Ray."

"If you run into Seth, tell him where to go," Sands said in that same droll tone. "If you don't, oh well. This is more important."

Alex nodded, grunted, and hung up the phone, putting all his energy onto the accelerator and the steering wheel. As he approached El Ray, in record timing, he saw the figure of Seth on Xanny's bike, approaching from the opposite direction.

He did a quick spin and turn, sped past the bike, and shouted, "San Mateo!" Seth looked confused, but he seemed willing to follow. Alex admired how Seth struggled to keep up, but the distance between them kept getting longer and longer, until he lost sight of Seth completely in the rearview, twenty minutes outside of San Mateo.

The church was exactly where Sands had said it would be, and it was of the same name as the town. Whether the town was named for the church, or the church for the town, was anybody's guess. Hitting the breaks rather hard, Alex blared the horn, and as he put the car into a hasty park, he noticed Sands coming out of the front doors, followed by what could only have been a priest, in a long black…dress?

More important things, Alex told himself, gathering Xanny up in his arms. Sands came up, took one look at Xanny's face, and turned to the priest. The two did some kind of strange "talking with their eyes" thing, and then Sands turned back to Alex.

"Did Blackheart touch her?" he asked.

"Dunno," Alex panted. Xanny wasn't as light as she looked, especially not with a leather jacket and chaps. "Didn't see."

"More than likely he did," the priest said in a thick Spanish accent, coming down the stairs. "Take her inside, to the back room. There is a cot there, place her down."

Alex nodded and obeyed. He heard the other two men follow him and considering saying something about needing help, but a second later understood why they hadn't offered. The hallway was narrow – almost too narrow for a man carrying an unconscious woman. And the room was very small. The cot was where the priest indicated, and as gently as he could, Alex put Xanny down.

It was only then that he saw, in addition to her change of skin color, what had happened to her.

Her hair looked exactly like Augusta's. It was entirely white.


	13. Harm

Disclaimer: Hey, guys, look! I'm making soup! Seth and El Ray are owned by Tarantino and Rodriguez. Sands is owned by Rodriguez. Blackheart is owned by Marvel Comics. Alex Tully is owned by Fox, although they don't seem to want him. I do own Xanny, Augusta and Marcos (wherever the hell he went). And that's it.

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Thirteen: Harm

She was lost.

It was like being held underwater, but still being able to breathe. Everything was distorted, as if she were delirious. The cold of Blackheart's touch had faded momentarily, but now it felt like there were handprints all over her, from where he'd touched her, and they were grasping and clawing at her with icy talons. She felt faint, feverish, and pallid, and knew she didn't have any more strength to drag herself from this awful place.

But what awful place was this? It felt tumultuous -- things, almost like pictures, but with sounds and sensations she couldn't pin down, rolling around her. She endured them, unable to discern one from another, feeling bleary and dream-like. Then, after a time, she became aware of a voice, deeper and clearer, cutting through the multi-colored haze.

"---sed libera nos a malo(1), amen."

It wasn't Spanish…it was Latin. She blinked her eyes. It was like emerging face first from a cold, clear pool. She drew in breath, felt it fill her lungs, delicious and sweet. It smelled like Easter, all of a sudden…incense, Frankincense to be precise, like when she was a kid.

"Ah, good," came the same soothing voice. "Finally."

She fluttered her eyelids, trying to focus. She felt heavy, as if she'd been unconscious for a pronounced period of time. And not in a particularly restful sleep, at that. A few swallows confirmed her suspicion, and her throat was dry and swollen.

There was something cool pressed against her lips, and she turned her head, trying to drink. It was a strange kind of thing, being given a drink of water while she was flat on her back, but it seemed to work. A few more swallows, a cough, and she felt she was able to speak.

"Where am I?"

"You are in the rectory house of San Mateo. The church. Which is in the town, also called San Mateo." The voice that answered her obviously belonged to a Mexican, from the accent.

"How long have I been…out?"

"About…sixteen hours, give or take some minutes," mused the voice. The owner suddenly came into focus, as he was running a warm, wet cloth over her forehead. It was a man, just toward the end of his prime and heading into respectful middle age, but not quite yet, dressed in a black robe Xanny recognized as a cassock. The white rectangle at his throat completed the look, along with the black-wood crucifix with a silver Corpus Christi around his neck. "You have been giving your companions somewhat of a nervous breakdown. Although none of them seem to be able to do anything practical to help you – like pray."

Xanny heard the wryness in his voice and instantly liked him. He was dark haired and deeply tanned, and rather polished. He sat down in a chair right beside her bed – which was a small and rather comfortable cot. She turned her head to look at him.

"Can I ask your name, Padre?" she said.

"Father Mateo," he replied. "Father Mateo, in the church of San Mateo, in the town of San Mateo. If you ask me, sometimes the good Lord is just a bit too obvious."

She managed an amused smile. "Nobody pays attention to the obvious."

"Indeed, it's like hiding in plain sight." The priest sighed. "But in all seriousness, young lady—"

"Xanny. Short for Alexandra."

"Alexandra," he said with a fatherly kind of sternness, "perhaps you would like to tell me why your friends brought you here in such a dire state?"

"Did you ask them?" Xanny asked. "What did they tell you?"

The priest made a vague motion with his hand. "Confession is good for the soul. None of them seemed to know too much, except for Sheldon, who came here asking me about a demon. It's not the first time."

Xanny felt a little jolt. "So you're Sands' contact in San Mateo?" The thought of that…_man _having a priest as a source was boggling.

Fr. Mateo seemed to think so, as well, as his expression was one of self-disgust and amusement. "I don't like to think of myself as involved with his business activities." Then he shrugged. "Then again, no one likes to think of themselves as being low in dignity. Although we often have less than we even imagine. But yes, he came here to see me. The one who carried you in didn't know how you had arrived in such a state, however. And the third one, well…he just did a lot of swearing and cursing."

She had to smirk at the brief description of what only could be Seth, but it faded under heavier weights. She considered her words carefully, then realized that was pointless. If there was anyone she could be honest with, it was this man. "My sister has gone missing," she said. "We split up to go look for her, and were going to come back and regroup if we didn't find anything. Alex – he's the guy who brought me in, I'm sure – went with me to El Tule and there was a very expensive hotel there, I was sure my sister would have gone there, she likes expensive things."

Xanny paused. The priest just looked at her, patient as a statue, waiting for her to go on. He seemed completely non-judgmental, although Xanny was sure that wouldn't last.

"I found her in the hotel restaurant. She was with this…person, I guess. Sands says he's a demon. His name is Blackheart."

The priest merely nodded. It was reassuring, not being called a crack-pot, especially by one such as him. So she went on.

"My sister wasn't acting like herself. She pretty much tried to hold me in place while this Blackheart --- I don't know what the hel…I mean, heck he was trying to do, but it wasn't chaste, I know that much. I felt like I was being drugged or something, but it wasn't…it wasn't like that. I managed to get away, but I didn't quite make it past the door. If Alex hadn't grabbed me and brought me here, I don't know what would have happened."

A long silence followed, and Fr. Mateo was either thinking, or praying, or both. Then, finally, he said, "You took too great of a risk, going after your sister for yourself."

"So you believe me, about the demons?" Xanny asked. "I mean, they are real? It doesn't sound crazy?"

"Indeed, it does _not_ sound crazy," the priest said in all seriousness. "People today just do not believe in demons and the devil, but they are real. And it doesn't surprise me that you have encountered one. But you were taking too great of a risk to go confront it without protection."

"I didn't mean to, Father," Xanny said. "I didn't know it would be there."

"But you were looking for your sister," Fr. Mateo admonished. "You suspected, in your heart, where she had gone and why she had gone there."

Xanny didn't reply, finding no excuse.

"Sometimes, our instincts are correct. More often than we realize. I always tell those who come to me for advice to listen to their gut. The ones with good consciences, anyway. Their gut rarely leads them wrong." He gave her an admonishing look. "Never again are you to venture out without something blessed. Fortunately your angel seems to have kept you from permanent harm. But to throw yourself from that precipice again would be wrong."

Xanny nodded, and then slowly got her arms behind her so she could sit up. The priest helped her a bit, supporting her arm so that she could adjust her legs. "So what about next time?" Xanny asked. "I mean, how can I get my sister back?"

Fr. Mateo didn't answer. He got up, and reached for a pitcher of water that was sitting on a nearby stool. He filled her glass and handed it to her.

"Right now, you need to rest. And pray. I always recommend prayer. Especially over mulling things in your head when they just go around in circles."

She accepted the glass, but didn't drink. "We don't have time to sit around, Father," she said, her voice a bit more defiant. "I mean, my sister is in danger!"

"Oh, of that there is no doubt. But this isn't the kind of danger you can rescue her from. She needs to see it for herself."

Xanny frowned. What was this man talking about? Didn't he realize that Augusta was a prisoner, under some kind of spell? She opened her mouth to protest again, but suddenly she just didn't have the heart. Her own previous fears and worries about her sister came crashing back in on her, and she suddenly felt extremely depressed.

"Pray," the priest whispered. "And rest."

"I'm fine," Xanny insisted, setting the glass down and throwing off the thin blanket that was covering her. She didn't like this heavy feeling, it was on her limbs and in her bones, and she had to shake it off. But the second she went vertical, her knees buckled, and she almost fell.

"Hey there!" came another voice, one that was starting to become mildly familiar. Xanny looked up to see that Alex had come into the room, and through the doorway, Sands and Seth were both looking at her anxiously.

"She's awake!" Seth said. "Good, we can get going!"

"That isn't going to happen," Fr. Mateo informed them, as he grasped Xanny's left arm while Alex had hold of the right. They lifted her back onto the cot. She sat there, her head spinning and her stomach feeling queasy.

Sands regarded her rather dispassionately, Seth with anxious relief, and Alex was all concern. He even fussed over putting the blanket back on her, even though Xanny made a half-ass attempt to shove it off again. "Why not?" Sands asked in his deadpan.

"Because none of you, not one of you, realize what this girl has been through. She needs time to rest. And you need more than just your medals and your attitudes to protect you from what's coming. You need time to prepare."

"Give me a gun and some target practice and I'll get prepared," Seth snapped. Alex had moved out of the way and Xanny could see him, in all his twitching glory. She felt a horrible and strong swell of resentment toward him. If Augusta hadn't been so hung up on finding him, none of this would ever have happened. She turned away in disgust.

She heard Fr. Mateo snort. Alex turned toward him, a bit more diplomatic. "None of us are really praying men, Father. We've gotten through life on luck and skill."

"Yes, I can see how successful that's made you all," the priest said, voice dripping with sarcasm and contempt. "The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. Whatever the case, that young lady isn't leaving yet – her soul depends on it, have I made that clear?"

"Yes, Father," Alex agreed, while Sands only nodded. Seth, for his part, went stomping out the door. Where he was going, Xanny neither knew nor cared.

"I have to run an errand," Fr. Mateo said. "I have to ask that you let that Alexandra alone, let her rest. When I return, then I will not hold you to staying here any longer. But for right now she needs this place." He walked over to Xanny and pulled something big and golden out from the collar around his neck. It was a rather large crucifix, fitting neatly over the palm of her hand. He placed it on her palm and closed her fingers over it, then took the long chain and placed it around her neck. "Wear this," he told her, in a tone that brooked no argument. "Whatever you do, do not take it off."

"How bad was it," Alex asked, the only one who seemed to care enough to do so, "how bad was she hurt?"

"It was more of a matter of harm to her soul than to her body," Fr. Mateo answered. "And medicine for the soul is not something you can find on a street-corner drugstore. Now, are you men of your word? If you say you will make her stay, will you?"

Sands and Alex looked at each other. Alex said, "I will," and Sands said, "Yes."

"Fine." The priest started down the aisle and out the back door of the church.

"That's it?" Alex asked, confused as the priest disappeared. "He just asks for our word and he believes us?"

"Say either yes or no, and mean it," Sands said, and Xanny vaguely recognized it as a distorted quote from one of the gospels. "Fancy promises don't mean much."

"Huh," Alex muttered. Then he looked back at Xanny, but she had her back to all of them. "All right then. I'll take the first watch. You probably want to go after Seth, find out what he's itching about."

"Why me?" Sands asked, irritable. "He's nothing to me."

"He isn't?" Alex sounded confused. "Sorry, but weren't you with the two girls who were looking for him?"

"I was with them, but I wasn't _with_ them," Sands said, annoyed. "It was a coincidence. I couldn't give two shits about him."

Alex sighed. "Then do you want first watch and I'll go after him?"

Sands shrugged. "Seth isn't going anywhere. After what happened to him in the Titty Twister, it would take a lot for him to go after anything supernatural alone. He'd want to be prepared, take back-up. Which in this case leaves him with us. So until we go, he's not going."

Alex nodded, annoyed. "Yeah, that whole thing about vampires." He snorted in disgust. "I still don't believe any of that crap, you know."

"Not even after what you saw happen to Xanny?"

"No, of course not. Xanny wasn't bitten by a vampire," he added contemptuously. "I didn't even see what _did_ happen---"

"Would you two," Xanny said, turning over and yelling at both of them, "kindly stop talking about me over my head, and shut the hell up so that I can get some damn rest?"

"I'll take first watch," Sands muttered, reaching in and closing the small wooden door that separated the church's small sacristy from the rest of the place. "You go talk to Seth. Whatever. It beats doing nothing until Fr. Mat comes back."

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1 – 'and deliver us from evil,' in Latin, the last line of the Our Father.


	14. Anger

Disclaimer: Hey, guys, look! I'm making soup! Seth and El Ray are owned by Tarantino and Rodriguez. Sands is owned by Rodriguez. Blackheart is owned by Marvel Comics. Alex Tully is owned by Fox, although they don't seem to want him. I do own Xanny, Augusta and Marcos (wherever the hell he went). And that's it.

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Fourteen: Anger

Xanny was upset. She was more upset with each passing moment. The priest had told her that praying was better than thinking, especially when your thoughts went nowhere, but right now, Xanny felt so upset and angry that she could hardly do anything _but_ think.

She thought about how she had come all this way just for Augusta. How all Augusta cared about was finding Seth. How Augusta had been disappointed in her goody-two-shoes sister. How she had turned on her, betrayed her, attempted to bring her to harm. And all that thinking turned into the blackest anger Xanny had ever felt in her life.

Then, like a chemistry experiment suddenly changing colors, her black anger turned into even blacker despair. Despair at ever being happy – ever having the home and family she had always wanted, ever being with people who really loved her. Xanny felt alone and unwanted. Marcos hadn't wanted her, and now Augusta had left her. And it whirled around in her head until she thought she might start to cry.

She recognized the self-pity and tried to push it back. She realized she was still exhausted from her ordeal, and figured that maybe she should try to get some sleep again. So she shut her eyes and slowly, very slowly, she drifted off.

She had a terrible dream.

She dreamed that Augusta was in pain. That she was reeling and screaming, writhing like a snake caught under someone's bootheel. She couldn't see where and couldn't see who was doing it, but it shook her awake just after sunset.

It took a moment to recover herself before Xanny could sit up. She was breathing heavily, and was suddenly hot and sticky. She kicked the thin, raggedy blanket off her in annoyance and got off the cot.

The room was dark, and Xanny hesitated to turn on a light. If she was being guarded, like some captive, no doubt one of the boys would be sitting outside her door and not let her take the walk she was itching to take. The dream was rapidly fading…it was strange, blinking and suddenly forgetting why she had been upset a moment earlier. All she felt was hot, and all she wanted was a taste of the cooler evening air.

She went to one of the windows and found that it was very easy to climb out – there was a rubbish pile on the ground below her, and she was able to quietly slip one of the wooden kneelers over to climb up onto the sill. With a mild heave, she was sitting on the sill, one of her legs looped over, and soon both legs were outside. She hit the ground with a pretty quiet thud, and suddenly felt better.

The night was cool, and open. There were so many stars above her…so many she could hardly tell where the familiar constellations were. There was a dusting of something, like a cloud but too far away to be a cloud, stretching from one end of the sky to another.

"The Milky Way," she whispered to herself in wonder, taking several steps away from the hut-like church. The town around her was not quiet – people were eating dinner in great crowds, talking and laughing and listening to music. The noise was distracting – she wanted something more quiet. So she picked her way over the low stone bridge around the back of the church and headed for the back end of the property.

After walking for a few minutes, she realized there was something heavy around her neck, and it was giving her a suffocating feeling. She reached for it and found a thick gold chain, and then remembered – the crucifix she had promised not to take off. It was huge – nobody except a queen on her throne would imagine wearing this thing as a decoration. The chain was so long that the actual crucifix was resting against her stomach, bumping against the waistband of her jeans. Still, true to her word, she did not take it off.

The dream was gone from her memory, now. Her thoughts had gone back to her earlier brooding – all this trouble, over saving Seth? Whatever had she been thinking? She should never have come here, never should have bothered with all this. It was just so much more trouble than it was worth.

"Haven't most things in your life been like that, Alexandra?"

Xanny started at the voice. She knew it, and her blood chilled. She spun around, looking for the owner – only one person spoke in that awful, rumbling baritone.

"Show yourself, Blackheart," she said, her fingers going for the chain. She started to tug the crucifix up but it snagged on something and wouldn't come.

"Fine," he replied, appearing much closer to her than she would have thought. She gave a little cry, jumped, and yanked hard on the chain, finally bringing the blessed object up to her neck. She had it in her hand and held it out, between them. Blackheart looked at it, and her, with condescension. "What a wonderful greeting," he drawled.

She glared at him. "You've got a lot of nerve, showing up here," she said, backing away. It didn't seem to help. It seemed he floated to keep up with her, although she never saw him actually move.

"I only came because you called me."

"I didn't—"

"Not knowingly, no. But your anger…it carries on the wind. You're angry at your sister. You're not alone."

Her glare intensified. "Angry at her because she failed to help you capture me?" she snapped. "Failed to help you…mindfuck me, like you did her?" It seemed at the use of the profanity, the urge to drop the crucifix twitched at her wrist, like a bug bite.

Blackheart said nothing, merely gazed on her with those strange eyes.

"Well, if you've come to regroup, you can forget it," she snapped, and then lunged forward. For a second, that perfect, cold blue composure fell apart as Blackheart's face distorted and the crucifix dove at him. He turned, bringing up one shoulder, and she felt it make contact. He hissed, face turning horrible and ugly in some kind of demonic apparition, but then it passed, and he was a bit further away, a more respectful distance.

"You can't _fool_ me," she said, challenging him. She felt suddenly empowered, having this heavy thing in her hand and being able to repel him with it. She felt heady about it – triumphant, as if she had done something marvelous. "I know what you are."

Blackheart smirked, straightening his coat and smoothing the wrinkles with his long white fingers. Such clothes…Xanny couldn't help but noticed them. Everything was a muted, black-purple-brown, changing with the light. A long, butter-soft leather duster covered leather pants and some kind of patterned vest, with a shirt that criss-crossed over his chest, exposing the fine lines of his neck. Demon or not, he had incredible taste in his attire. Even if that human shape he wore was just a shell, he wore it with the same kind of elegance he wore the rest of his clothes. He noticed her observing him, and gave her a grin that seemed to reach into her head, into her darkest thoughts, that she didn't want to acknowledge were there.

"Indeed," he said, his voice honey-smooth, "whoever could possibly resist the powers of Alexandra the Great? You could hardly blame me for wanting you. And it would certainly show all those who seem to have rejected you. Teach them what they've missed."

The blow was low, and she felt it. Her high-chinned expression trembled, although her hand did not.

"If you're taking about Marcos," she said, trying to be scornful, "it's not the first time I've been dumped by a guy and it won't be the last."

Blackheart dismissed the parry with a miniscule shrug. "But your own flesh and blood? Your own sister?"

Xanny barred her teeth, as much an effort to fight him as it was to show she wasn't buy his crap. "You've got her under some kind of spell, and I'm going to figure out how to break it, I promise!"

Blackheart's smirk curved into a smile. "I have done nothing to Augusta that she hasn't asked me to do. _She_ came to _me_. _She_ put down your rosary. She _chose_ her path. Do you think I'm some all-powerful creature than can control humans like robots?"

Xanny laughed. "Oh, please, you're not trying reverse psychology on me, are you? Trying to make yourself seem less powerful? Demons _possess_ people, basic theology one oh one."

Blackheart chuckled, and slowly started to pace around her in a circle. "How adorable, that a girl raised by incompetent delinquents into a life of impoverishment, not the least of which being in education, thinks to tell _me_, who lived before Man was a glimmer in God's eye, what is what. Your low-class ignorance is true about one thing," he said, and his voice, which had been so velvety before, betrayed what he really thought of her, "that yes, demons do possess people. But why, do you think? Why this person, and not that?"

Xanny shook her head, although she had unconsciously started to back away from him. "Demons are liars. I won't listen to lies."

"Lies?" he laughed. "And even if I was lying, what would it accomplish?" He stopped behind her, and she could feel a gust of glacial wind on the back of her neck. "It is _choice_, Alexandra. Always choice. Augusta is with me because she _chooses_ to be. You know this, in your heart. Wasn't it Augusta's idea to come to this place in the beginning? Wasn't it she who led you down here? Wasn't she seeking Seth, who, as I recall, also rejected you?"

"Shut up," Xanny bit out, jerking away. She unwittingly felt something rise in her in response to his bait. She wouldn't give in. "I left Seth, not the other way around."

"Oh, I stand corrected: you left him after it was clear he chose something else over you. That makes a very large difference, yes?"

She turned to get him in her sights again, but there wasn't anything behind her. Her hand was trembling now. She wanted to lower the crucifix, it felt so heavy. Instead, something in her made her reach around and grasp her elbow with her other hand. Whether she could see him or not--

Suddenly he was stepping into her view. She gave a jump, almost dropping the heavy metal. "And let's not forget the fact that Seth is in love with Augusta. Just like Marcos once used to be. Haven't you ever worried that the only reason he was with you was because you looked like her?"

"SHUT! UP!" Xanny said, and knew it was useless. There was no shutting this…_thing_ up.

"Xanny," Blackheart said, his voice now warm, comforting, "aren't you tired of being alone? What I'm offering is that you'll never have to be alone again. None of them will matter, not any of the pain or hurt. They won't be able to touch you, ever again."

Xanny opened her mouth to retort, but something stopped her. Those feelings he had stirred up within her…it was true, how all that bitterness wanted to taint her…the daily temptation to give in to that self-pity…

"No," she said, pushing through it. "No, I'm not like that. I'm not bitter. I don't…I don't let things stick to me. I _couldn't_. I'm just lucky to be alive after…after everything…"

"And what kind of life has it been?" Blackheart asked, his voice now earnest. "Your accents have improved, but has your substance? Are you any less alone?"

She closed her eyes, her voice feeling like a chant. "I survived Ritchie and Seth. I survived prison. I found my sister. I found a life—"

"And is that life any different from prison?" Blackheart challenged. "Confined, restricted…Marcos couldn't cope with your blue hair, do you think he could have really ever understood the real you?"

Xanny flinched. Her hair had turned completely white from her last encounter with Blackheart. She looked more like Augusta than ever. _Maybe,_ her bitterness spoke inside her, _he could accept me now_.

Blackheart paused, his next words so light and soft, like the caress of a timid lover. "_I'm_ not your enemy. I'm your salvation. I'll give you freedom you never imagined – you'll never have to answer to anyone again. And you will never care. They don't see what you are, and even if they could, they could never accept you. But _I_ do."

"Yeah, so do I," came a voice, and suddenly there were gunshots. Xanny stumbled backward, but saw Blackheart take several shots, and seem to crumple and smoke with each bullet. His elegant, handsome form distorted again, and reformed a greater distance away.

"How---?" Blackheart rasped, unable to believe he was weakened with mere bullets.

Alex stepped out of the shadows, cocking the gun he had pulled on Seth earlier. "Dipped the bullets in holy water," he replied simply.

Xanny shook her head, the fog lifting. She looked up to see Alex standing only a few feet from her elbow, having closed the distance quickly as Blackheart was pushed away. "What?" she managed, feeling sleepy, disoriented. "What's going—"

"Dipped the bullets in holy water," Alex repeated, "try to keep up." He turned back to Blackheart, who was glaring malevolently at him. "You got a hell of a lot of nerve, coming at her twice in a row."

"Yes, a _hell_ of a nerve," Blackheart mocked. Xanny blinked again, her head clearing. What in creation had happened to her? Was she that gullible? Anger flared in her, and only then did she realize how hard she'd been gripping her crucifix. The Corpus left a deep imprint in her palm. She unclenched it, and wished with all her might that she could use the chain to strangle the bastard before her.

Then Blackheart, to both Alex and Xanny's horror, grinned and then pulled himself up right. The smoke vanished quickly, the bullets only having passed through him. "Too bad your trick only works until your gun is empty," he said, and charged at Alex.

Xanny let out a startled, scream-like chirp, but then leapt. She managed to get in front of Alex a split second before Blackheart reached them, and she pressed the crucifix to the side of that bluish-white face. The scream that came from the demon tossed both her and Alex back over a dozen feet. They landed on the ground, Xanny on top, and when their heads cleared, Blackheart had vanished.

"Bloody hell," Xanny panted, rolling herself off Alex and lying on the hard dirt ground, panting.

"My sentiments exactly," Alex said, on his elbows. He turned to her. "Are you all right?"

Xanny lay on her back, staring up at the sky. Everything was still there…the sweep of the Milky Way, the glitter of the scores of stars, the unblinking planets and the streaking comets. The heavens had watched as she had struggled against temptation… Her fingers closed on the crucifix again, as if expecting to feel something left of Blackheart, residue…God forbid, even slime. But there was nothing. The blessed object felt as cool and heavy as it had before.

"Xanny?" Alex pressed, when she didn't answer.

"Fine," she said. She breathed a long breath. "Foolish." She turned her eyes to him. "Thank you."

"Wasn't nothing," Alex said, starting to rise, offering her a hand.

She took it. "It was," she assured him. She smiled at him, feeling…warm. "Really."

Alex shrugged. He looked distinctly uncomfortable, and Xanny didn't know exactly where it came from – the fact that he'd just gone up against a demon, her gratitude, or the fact that he was attracted to her and she was studying him rather closely at the moment. She couldn't help but smile, but it didn't last. As the moment passed, her thoughts returned to what had dragged her out here to begin with.

_Augusta_. And suddenly Xanny remembered her dream. She gave an involuntary groan and pressed both hands to her forehead.

Alex looked concerned. "Actually," he said, "I came out here to tell you… Father Mateo is back. And he brought somebody with him."


	15. Malachi

Disclaimer: Hey, guys, look! I'm making soup! Seth and El Ray are owned by Tarantino and Rodriguez. Sands is owned by Rodriguez. Blackheart is owned by Marvel Comics. Alex Tully is owned by Fox, although they don't seem to want him. I do own Xanny, Augusta and Marcos (wherever the hell he went). And that's it.

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Fifteen: Malachi

The person Father Mateo had brought back with him was strange, short little man with a thick, wiry black beard shot through with silver. He had a full head of long hair, which was pulled into a loose pony-tail that hung down his back. He was dressed in a gray robe that looked like it was made out of some close cousin to burlap, only not as comfortable, and he had a knotted rope around his waist.

His name was Brother Malachi. He walked up to Xanny almost before Father Mateo could finish introducing him by name. He stared hard into her face, and Xanny felt suddenly vulnerable, even though he was a full head and a half shorter than her.

"You went up against the demon again," the man said, and it took Xanny a second to realize he had spoken in Spanish. While she spoke a certain amount of Spanish, her clarity of the language came in clumps, but she had understood him as clearly as if he'd spoken English. It surprised her, and instantly gave her a feeling, like static electricity on the back of her arms.

Brother Malachi turned away. "But you cannot beat him. You cannot save your sister, or your friends, or even yourself."

Xanny stopped breathing for a moment, and then she spluttered in indignation. This was certainly not what she had either expected or hoped to hear. "Well, isn't _that_ a fine situation," she said, hands on her hips.

The little brother paid her no mind, although Father Mateo did look mildly bashful. Malachi turned, and looked at Seth, who had been off to the side in the small chapel, arms crossed over his chest, watching everything with a glowering expression. "And your guns won't do anything, or haven't you already discovered that?"

"Xanny," Alex whispered to her, who was standing at her elbow, "can you understand everything he's saying, crystal clear?"

"Yes," she murmured back. "And yes, he's speaking Spanish."

"Just checking," although Alex looked definitively spooked.

"Not even your blessed bullets hurt him for more than a few seconds," Malachi said, looking at Alex, who jumped the slightest bit.

"So what do we do?" Xanny asked.

"I would suggest prayer, but somehow I think that will fall on deaf ears." Finally, he looked at Sands, who was surveying all of them with a puzzled expression.

"Do any of you understand what this man in saying?" the agent said, his normal deadpan raised in mocking frustration.

Xanny almost laughed. "Not with me," she said, struggling to stay on track. "I…I've…"

Brother Malachi looked at her, plainly, and Xanny couldn't finish her words. There was nothing to say. The man was right. After a few moments of looking at her feet, she brought her gaze up, and Malachi was looking at her in a fatherly way. It lifted her spirit a bit.

"So, the immediate concern is to save your sister, yes?" the brother continued, as if he'd never been interrupted. "This can only happen when she wants to be saved."

"Well, how are we going to know that?" Alex asked, puzzled.

"We will know," Malachi replied in a mild, and confident, tone. "I will know. And when that happens, some force will be helpful."

"That's more like it," Seth snorted.

"Shut up, Seth," Xanny snapped, and until that moment, she hadn't realized what she'd been holding back – the anger, the frustration, the worry, how it had been struggling and failing to find an escape route, and now that Seth had opened his mouth just one too many times, she was popping. "This is all your fault, you know!"

"My fault?" Seth said. It was in his nature to be contradictory, and even though he blamed himself already for the current events, it wasn't all right for her to shout at him like that. His pride rankled. "How exactly is it my fault?"

"This Blackheart bastard would never have come after either Augusta or me if you'd never pissed him off."

"Oh, what was I supposed to do, let his Pandemonium bitch suck out my blood like she did Ritchie's? I lost my brother to that whore, you know, so don't go getting all high and mighty about being the only one to ever lose someone you care about!"

"Don't talk about her like she'd already gone!" The harder she yelled, the better it felt, the angrier she got, and the more she wanted to yell. "And your brother doesn't deserve to be mentioned in the _same breath_ as my sister!"

Seth lunged forward, getting right in Xanny's face. It wasn't the first time she had been toe to toe with Seth Gecko, but never had it had such ferocity. "Say that again," he dared her. "Say it again."

Alex moved to come toward them, eyes on Seth, ready to fight him in Xanny's defense if he had to – she waved him back, unwilling to let him take away her fight. She met Seth's eyes, willing fire to come out of her own. She stepped forward, her frame bumping right against his – she was half a head shorter than him, but she had as little give as he did. "I'll say it again," she charged, "and I'll say this, too. How long would it have been before you picked Ritchie over Augusta, Seth? She came down here looking for you, all she wanted was to be with you, and this is pretty poor payment for her troubles."

"This isn't even about Augusta," Seth spat. "This is about you."

"No, it's about _you_!" she howled, the force of her breath pushing back the peak of hair that crowned his forehead. Then she pushed, and she was angry enough that adrenaline gave her enough strength to actually push Seth Gecko back by nearly three feet. It wasn't enough. She beat at him with her fists as she went on. "All of this is about you! If you hadn't been so completely…such a _sorry loser_, you and your cursed brother both, that you got yourself chased out of the country in the first place! Think about it, Seth! Your whole life has been leading to this! And I was stupid enough to follow you, until I got smart and pulled out – but it doesn't end, does it? I'm still getting dragged back into your private hell!"

Finally having had enough of being battered, Seth raised his arm and shoved her back. Alex caught her, and both of them glared at him, accusingly. Seth opened his mouth to defend himself, but a movement out of the corner of his eye seemed to steal the words from his lips. A finger was leveled at his face, not an inch away from his right eye. He was startled to see it was Brother Malachi, glaring up at him with an authority he'd only ever seen in Jacob, and not even in that old preacher had there been this much energy and force.

"She speaks in anger and grief," Malachi said. "You speak in pride. But it is the truth. Your sins have lead to this path, but Grace has offered a solution."

Seth blinked, surprised at how he was suddenly deflated.

Then he turned to Xanny, and took her hand in his. His was rough, like a bear paw, only smaller. "It is not your place to pass judgment on this one," he said, his voice stern but much milder than the one he'd used on Seth. "You would make the best use of time keeping your mind away from worry and thought. Prayer is the best remedy for this. And you do wish you were better at this, yes?"

"Yes," she said softly, turning her angry eyes away from Seth.

"Well, we are in a chapel," he pointed out with a small smile. "Could God be more obvious?" Then he let go of her hand and, taking his own advice, went up to the front of the chapel, at the first pew before the altar, and settled into silence. He did not speak to anyone again for the rest of the night.

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Augusta was in hell.

As far as she was able to tell, she had no injuries. Which made this bizarre agony that much worse. Her throat was parched, her skin burned, her limbs were frozen, and pain stretched across her frame with each ragged breath. But it was not the physical pain that caused her to believe she was in hell. It was the environment itself.

She had not believed in vampires before this day. Now her own eyes told her what she was sure was impossible.

She had been brought back to the Titty Twister, although the memory of that event was vague. All she remembered was Blackheart screaming at her in rage, and the searing burn of the wind around her, and finding herself back in the bar, dumped onto the stage like trash. Nobody paid her any attention, just went about their business – she wondered if any could actually see her.

And then she'd watched them change, and feed.

Now, they crawled about, licking up ever spilled drop of blood, their crooning and growling more terrifying than she could have imagined.

What had she been thinking? Now, it felt like the clearest thoughts she'd had in days, and she was irrevocably trapped in this place. She couldn't stop crying – alternating between ragged sobs, low keens, and hiccupping whimpers, she felt like she simply couldn't stop. Her chest ached from the exertion, but it was still the least of the pain. And the tears brought no relief, but only seemed to serve as tiny daggers in already open wounds.

She'd been a fool. She didn't know how she'd come to this…Blackheart was so lovely, and had felt like everything she had ever searched for. Every time she'd done something bad, something she knew was wrong, she had been looking for the rush, the exhilaration that she felt when Blackheart touched her. And it seemed that for every high she felt, she craved a bigger one, and he was always ready to provide. And while a part of her mind was terrified by the fact that he was not human, the pleasures he gave her were like an ocean, drowning out rational thought.

Now, it felt like a vacuum in her heart. She could not believe she'd sold her soul for so cheap a price. But now, there just didn't seem to be any way out. And she still felt the pull, the craving for Blackheart's intimate caress.

There was a sudden, low vibration under her ear, which was pressed to the wooden floor of the raised stage. Blackheart's boots came into view, moving closer to her. She raised her head a little, wondering, like an abused animal, if her master had come to mistreat her or embrace her. But then something shot through her, a sudden revulsion toward him, and she pushed herself up onto her arms, attempting to crawl away from him.

She got off the stage and landed on the floor in a crumpled heap. She shook herself, got her feet under her, and started to wobble away from him. But she didn't make it far before she felt a hand entwine in her hair and pull her back. His breath on her neck was like a drug, and she inhaled it and resisted it in one effort.

"Going somewhere, love?" he asked.

"Away," she whimpered.

He clicked his tongue. "You know, perhaps it is true that you and your sister are related. She was able to evade me a second time, and always with help. Perhaps if you were more spirited, you'd be more interesting." He let her go and she hit the floor, her strength suddenly gone.

"Actually, you should be grateful," he said, meandering around her in a circle. "Because of me, you still live. They want your blood, they long for it, but no…I've saved you for no one but myself. Even though you don't deserve the honor."

A flare of rage straightened her shoulders. "Go to hell," she bit at him, but it lacked teeth. He laughed at her, reaching down and pulling her to her feet, so that she was slumped against him. She felt more loathing, more revulsion than she had anticipated – hadn't she been longing to be close to him just a few moments ago?

"Careful what you wish for," he whispered seductively.

She shut her eyes, even as he loomed closer. There had to be a way out of this…there had to be something, anything…_ Please God…just throw me a line. _

She opened her eyes, averting her gaze away from him. Something in the distance sparkled. She strained in his grip, found that somehow she was able to put a fraction of an inch between his hand on her neck.

Something lying on a nearby table…was that…Xanny's rosary?

She felt an impossible flare of hope. She had put that there, and it had enabled Blackheart to sink his hooks into her. Granted, she hadn't tried to stop him. It had been her own act of will to put that thing down…but if she could get a hold of it again, would it mean she could get free?

The earlier black feelings of desire and despair were suddenly parted by a sharp slice from hope. If only she could get Blackheart to release her for a moment, just a moment, it was all she needed.

There was a slamming on the door. Someone was pounding, even through the heavy wooden oak slabs with the equally thick bar pulled across it to keep everyone in. One of the creatures – a female in shape, although she was more horrifying than anything Augusta had pictured in her worst nightmares – crept to the door, and seemed to be sniffing.

Blackheart's grip slackened, just a bit. "Open it," he said, and while his voice was soft, that resonant distortion carried through the throaty growls of the other vampires without effort.

The female gripped the bar with her fingers and threw it back. It slammed back into the wall, and as it did so, all the shapes around her changed. Instead of the lumpy, nude bodes covered in blood, claws extended and long teeth in jaws impossibly elongated in their skulls, there were the same whorish, exotic dancers and rough looking bikers. They seemed to suddenly go about their business as if nothing had ever happened, although they watched the door as it creaked open with dagger eyes.

Two men – also vampires, for while their bodies hadn't changed, their faces were fleshy and malformed – were dragging something between them. And it looked painfully familiar.

"Marcos!" she shouted, her sudden spasm of surprise getting even more distance between her and Blackheart. The demon snarled in delight and seemed to toss her behind him, like a used Kleenex. She hit the floor with a painful crash, and it almost knocked her previous idea from her mind.

Marcos was being dragged from under his arms, and he was partially limp. His hair had grown out since she'd last seen him, and he hadn't shaved, creating some kind of thin beard – he had never been much for facial hair. He was dressed plainly – a black Armani T-shirt and a pair of blue jeans, nothing special. Obviously he'd been trying to stay under the radar.

"We found this one close by, lord," rasped the fatter vampire(1) with the balding scalp and the long hair. The other one, all muscle and black curling hair and mustache, threw Marcos down so that he practically crumpled at Blackheart's feet. He did not seem as pleased as the first one. "He had the smell on him, the smell you told us to look for."

"You can't look for a smell, idiot," Marcos managed, although his voice was weak. He got on his elbows and knees, edging away from Blackheart's pointed boots. He looked up at him with an expression that was pissed off and confused. But mostly pissed off.

Blackheart looked down at him, gloating. "This is perfect. You have no idea the horrors you've stumbled into, Marcos Ferarre."

That one startled him. "How do you know my name?"

"'Cause that chickie shouted it, idiot," the fat vampire mocked, pointing at Augusta. And then his jaw dropped.

Augusta was standing behind Blackheart, holding the rosary wrapped around her arm, the crucifix, small as it was, held aloft between two fingers. "Get away from him!" she shouted, her voice stronger than it had been before.

Blackheart turned his head and shoulders, but otherwise did not move. He regarded her with a dangerous glint in his eye, and clear disdain. "Put that nonsense down, Augusta, before you hurt yourself."

"Gus?" Marcos sputtered. He had been hit hard in the mouth, and blood was still dripping from his lips and nose. The dark-haired vampire was staring at it hungrily, a snarl low in his throat.

"I said _get away_!" she stepped forward, and using the hand entwined with the blessed beads, she swung at him in a sweeping motion. The second the beads made contact with his skin, Blackheart's form slumped and his face turned a horrible shade of blue, and his mouth distended and what looked like teeth, but were actually much, much worse, parted to let out a screech that almost broke her spine.

But he moved. He damn sure moved.

She bent down and got her free hand, the one without the rosary tied around it, under Marcos' arm and hauled him to his feet with all her strength. He was stunned, and he responded sluggishly, favoring parts of his body over others – apparently, they had roughed him up extensively before hauling him before the master. He moved close to her, seeing that it was obviously the rosary that was getting them out of this nightmare.

"The door," she told him. "Head for the door."

The other vampires had changed shape again, and were encircling them. Augusta spun around and swept the beads at them, and they scattered like flies – but like flies, they just alighted again a few seconds later, only a lot angrier.

The door was open. It was just a few more feet –

Then the doors slapped shut and the bar started to reach across.

"Not so quickly," the female said, in a voice almost as horrible as Blackheart's. He had reformed and was at the head of the charge, looking at Augusta with blazing eyes, and a smile that clearly showed her, in every part of her darkest imagination, how he was going to punish her for her rebellion.

But the bar didn't finish its short journey. It lodged half-way, and stuck. One of the doors was unbarred. And it was swinging open of its own accord.

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(1)-- Yeah, the two vampires played by Cheech, and the other guy who is in every single movie Rodriguez ever made. Those two. What, you thought they were dead? No way! LOL.


	16. Rescue

Disclaimer: Hey, guys, look! I'm making soup! Seth and El Ray are owned by Tarantino and Rodriguez. Sands is owned by Rodriguez. Blackheart is owned by Marvel Comics. Alex Tully is owned by Fox, although they don't seem to want him. I do own Xanny, Augusta and Marcos (now you know where he went!). And that's it.

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Sixteen: Rescue

"It is time," Malachi said, and quickly walked down the aisle of the chapel and out the door.

It had been nerve-wracking, waiting around for what felt like an endless period, not knowing what to expect, what they should be doing…Xanny had tried to pray but it was so hard, she had been so close to giving up…

And now they were off. Outside the church was parked an old, run-down station wagon, obviously Father Mateo's car. Brother Malachi took shotgun, leaving Alex, Xanny and Seth to crowd up the back seat. This meant that Sands, who was only coming along because he didn't want to be left behind alone at the church, was left to ride in the very, very back of the wagon, which was very long, and he had plenty of room to stretch out his legs. He seemed unhappy with the demotion, but satisfied that it kept him as far away from the crazy little monk and the bossy priest as possible. He didn't say much, just looked at everyone as if measuring them.

Then there was the drive.

It was the deepest part of the night, right before the sky just began to lighten. The expression, "Darkest before the dawn," drummed through Xanny's head. And it seemed that the drive would take forever, except that the station wagon seemed to run pretty fast, and she recognized very quickly where they were going.

To the Titty Twister.

The ride was tense and silent, and when the Titty Twister appeared as an ugly pink dot in the distance, she felt Seth stiffen beside her, like a wire prepared to snap.

"What is that?" Alex breathed.

"A little corner of hell on earth," Xanny replied, but even as the Titty Twister grew larger, it seemed that Fr. Mateo showed no intent to stop. "What are we going to do, ram it?" she asked.

"There," Malachi said, pointing. And then Xanny realized that two figures, slumped over each other and moving as quickly as they could in this awkward position, were coming toward them, down the thick dirt road that led straight to the Titty Twister's front doors. The telephone poles and the small stands that lined this road were dark, with only the neon of the sign casting any light. A glint of light caught on a familiar head of hair.

"Augusta!" Xanny shouted, practically diving over Seth to get to the door. Seth reached in front of her and fumbled with the latch on the door, and it didn't want to open.

The little brother turned to Alex. "You all stay in the car," he said. "Help your friend."

Alex reached out and grasped Xanny around the waist, trying to pull her back. "Come on, you can't—"

And then all of them were tossed back to the left side of the car by the fact that Fr. Mateo had spun it around. As soon as it stopped, or perhaps right before, Brother Malachi was out the door, and was behind the wagon, pulling open the back door and holding it wide for Augusta and whoever was with her.

Xanny was tossed onto Alex's lap from the swerve, but she recovered in time to see Augusta pile into the back part of the wagon, and practically fall across the hard plastic surface, with the man beside her. Xanny looked into his face.

"Marcos," she said. It contained confusion, shock, and a few other things nobody else in the car except Augusta was privy to. But Augusta was passed out, her hand stretching toward Xanny as she fell unconscious.

"Oh my God," Sands murmured.

"Indeed," Malachi snapped at him as he slammed the hind door shut. Then he got back into the passenger seat and Fr. Mateo took off back to the chapel in San Mateo.

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It was a bit awkward in the car.

When they had gotten a safe distance from the Titty Twister, Father Mateo had pulled the car over, and he and Brother Malachi had gotten out and walked around to the very back of the station wagon. Xanny heard them conversing in Spanish.

"You are the priest," that was Malachi.

"But Brother, you—" Father Mateo protested.

"No buts. I am not called to the distribution of sacraments, and only Grace can heal these wounds."

"But she's unconscious. And I'm sure your prayers are heard more clearly than mine."

"You are the priest," Malachi insisted. "It is to be you."

They opened the door, and Father Mateo leaned in toward Marcos. "Mr. Ferarre, if you would please, I think you would be more comfortable in the back seat. This girl needs urgent attention."

"How soon will we get to a hospital?" Marcos asked, slowly coming out, favoring his right side over his left.

"We are not going to a hospital," Father Mateo answered, and Xanny noticed that Malachi wasn't even looking at Marcos. His eyes were fixed on Augusta.

"Why not?" Marcos demanded, and Xanny instantly saw the power-saturated businessman rising up, demanding things be the way he thought they should be.

"Mr. Ferarre," Fr. Mateo said, his voice gentle but with a slight, "don't argue with me" edge, said, "her wounds are not of the body. They are of the soul, and they require a physician of the soul."

Marcos snorted, but it hurt his ribs. "She never went in much for religion, I should warn you."

"She picked up the rosary," Fr. Mateo said. "It is enough."

Marcos started to make his way around the car, but his walk was unsteady.

"Alexandra," called Brother Malachi. "Now is the time to help your friend."

As if pulled by strings, Xanny got out of the back seat of the car and came around, getting her arm under Marcos' to take his weight onto her shoulder. He looked at her, with such eyes…he was in some kind of agony, and she wasn't sure if it was his apparent injuries or something else.

Finally she could hold it in no longer. "What are you doing here?" she hissed softly, so her voice wouldn't carry. While her impatience had won out, she still didn't want to make a huge scene.

"I came looking for you," he said simply. Xanny's reply to this was to put her hand on his head and shove him into the back seat. He managed the maneuver, although not without a few groans.

"You, front seat," Malachi said to Seth.

"But," Seth protested, his hand, which had grasped Augusta's, tightening, "I want to stay here."

"Want, yes. Need, no. And you, you get to drive," he said to Alex. He tossed him the keys.

"What about me?" Sands grumbled. "Am I gonna walk?"

"You understand him now?" Alex asked.

"I'm not stupid. I can tell when someone is moving people around," Sands grumbled.

"You can share the back seat. I will ride in the back with Father."

It didn't improve much. Seth kept turning around, watching Augusta anxiously, although he couldn't see her, only how Father Mateo was crouched over her. It made Xanny extremely self-conscious – she was sandwiched between Sands, who kept rubbing her thigh, and Marcos, who kept looking at her with that damn…_look_!

"So…" Xanny said to Marcos, in as much an effort to do something productive as not worry about Augusta, "you said you came looking for me? At the Titty Twister?"

Marcos shook his head, and then his eyes went around Xanny to focus on Sands. "I called him."

Xanny had to look at Sands to make sure she knew exactly what Marcos meant. "Him? You called _him_ asking about _us_?"

Marcos winced as he shifted in his seat. "After you left…I knew where Augusta wanted to go. I knew you'd eventually end up in Mexico. But I figured that you'd see through her attempt to drag you down here and maybe come back home…but after a few weeks I realized that was a stupid hope, you probably wanted to know about Seth, too. Especially after that massacre in Texas. So I called your old boss."

"Carl? How's he doing?" It was stupid small talk, and stated in a very flat tone.

"He's good. Dating some goth chick with hair bluer than yours…was, anyway." He eyed her white head warily, then continued. "He wasn't able to track you and Augusta, but the Geckos. He figured they fled into Texas, started talking about a place called El Ray, where criminals who cross the border usually retreat to. So once I heard the Geckos were in Mexico, I supposed that Augusta might have called Sands to help pinpoint the way with fewer obstacles. Turns out I was right. He told me you were in San Mateo, and that something was wrong with you, so I came down to see."

Xanny considered his story. "If you left when you heard we were in San Mateo, you had to have gotten here pretty damn fast. Which means a jet, and a private airport, and all your money connections. I'll be you even had an escort party, Hummers and everything. So what happened to everyone else?"

Marcos had the good sense to look humbled. "We were ambushed. One of our party recommended the Titty Twister, said it would be a good place to gather information, I don't know, some bullshit. On the road coming in we were attacked by these…things. I don't know what they were – they looked like men but they had fangs and claws and their faces weren't shaped right. They killed everyone except me, because of the way I…smelled."

"They were vampires," Sands said coolly. "And they didn't kill you because you had Xanny's and Augusta's scents on you. Blackheart would have wanted you alive."

Marcos looked at Sands, and then burst out laughing. Then he winced and said, "Ow! All right, that's not funny."

"No, but it's true," Xanny said, her tone still level.

Marcos stopped laughing, but his smile remained for several minutes as he looked from one to the other, searching for any sign of the truth. Then, slowly, the smile faded.

"It _can't_ be," he whispered in disbelief.

"It can and it is," Brother Malachi said from the very back of the station wagon. "Ah, here we are. I knew your skills would be superior, Brother Alex."

Alex nodded his appreciation of the complement, even if he wasn't trilled to be in the car with Xanny, in whom he had taken a bit of a serious interest, and her maybe-ex-boyfriend, who was obviously very rich. As he pulled up and got the keys out of the ignition, he didn't dawdle in getting out of the car.

Xanny managed to shove Sands out of the car to also get out as quickly as possible. "Come on," she said, "we need to get Augusta inside. SETH!" she barked, a bit louder. "Come on!"


	17. Possession

Disclaimer: Hey, guys, look! I'm making soup! Seth and El Ray are owned by Tarantino and Rodriguez. Sands is owned by Rodriguez. Blackheart is owned by Marvel Comics. Alex Tully is owned by Fox, although they don't seem to want him. I do own Xanny, Augusta and Marcos (wherever the hell he went). And that's it.

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Seventeen: Possession

Seth snapped out of whatever funk he'd been lost in during the drive back. Sure, his recent reunion with the love of his life hadn't been that great, but she needed him now. He came around to the back of the station wagon, where Xanny was attempting to haul Augusta out, and not doing a horribly bad job of it, because Xanny was considerably strong. Gently, he put his hand on Xanny's arm and pushed her from his path, to reach down and get Augusta behind her shoulders and under her knees. He picked her up, tenderly, shifting her delicately so that her head rested securely against his shoulder. She let out a little moan.

"Come," Father Mateo said, leading the way. Soon, Augusta was settled on the cot where Xanny had rested before, and she looked so pale even her hair seemed darker by contrast. She was trembling slightly, and her skin was almost gray. The second Seth let her go, her trembling became much more intense, until it seemed her whole body was vibrating. Her head tossed from one side to the next, and the sound that came from her throat was much more than a moan – it was hard and sharp, like a death rattle.

Fr. Mateo stepped in front of Seth, attempting to push him aside as gently as he had moved Xanny, but Seth was on his knees beside Augusta, his face stricken.

"What's happening to her?" he asked, looking from the priest to the brother and even to Xanny wildly. "What's going on?"

"She needs a hospital," Marcos said, from where he was leaning against the doorframe, having dragged himself inside with minimal help from Sands -- and none from Alex. Nobody noticed that the two men had started to eye each other like wary animals.

"No," Malachi said with an air of pronounced authority. "Her wounds come from her spirit. You should clear the room," he added, in a more gentle tone.

"I'm not leaving!" Seth cried.

Augusta let out a strangled scream.

"You put on a show like this when I was on that cot?" Xanny asked, getting one hand around Seth's upper arm. She looked to Alex, motioning with her head.

Seth looked at her, a bit thrown. "N…no…"

"And I lived, didn't I?" she said, tugging. "Come on, Seth, do what the holy men say."

Alex was on the other side, his hand around Seth's other arm. "Yeah, come on."

Augusta was thrashing now. Fr. Mateo had all but shoved his way forward, getting between the kneeling Seth, who had been dragged back by a couple of feet, and Augusta's bedside. He made the sign of the cross over her, and Malachi slipped something around her neck – later they would see it was Xanny's rosary – and it seemed to stop her for just a minute. The gargling moan that came later, low and keening, made Seth join her in one of desperate concern.

"Seth, come on!" Xanny tugged harder, but it was more Alex that finally got Seth to his feet. "Come on, they can't help her if we're in the way! You _do _want her to get help, don't you?"

A few steps toward the door now. Marcos was in the way, and Xanny was suddenly struck by how he was standing, that he was injured as well.

Alex, reading the situation well, grabbed hold of Seth by both shoulders and steered him out like a motorbike. Xanny went to Marcos.

"Come on," she said, "we'll find a way to make you comfortable."

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Adrenaline had been the only thing keeping Marcos going until they got inside the church. His ribs had been pretty badly battered, at least bruised if not fractured or even broken. His breath was uneven, and he couldn't bear to lie down. They made him comfortable in an old armchair and propped up his legs. Seth, who was familiar with getting his ribs handed to him in a fight, was the most use there, although he could hardly concentrate for all his attention kept straying to Augusta. He managed to get some ripped sheets wrapped securely around Marcos' chest and advised him to just sit as quietly as he could for as long as possible.

"Xanny," Marcos called to her, reaching out to where she hovered close by, buzzing like a bee. "Can we—"

"Now's not the best time, Marcos," Xanny nearly snapped, shaking his grip from her arm with relative ease. Then she felt bad and looked back at him, struggling with herself. "What are you doing here?"

"I told you," Marcos said, seemingly oblivious to the fact that they had an audience. Xanny noted Alex watching her closely out of the corner of her eye, and felt a mysterious pang. "I came here for you."

She wanted to laugh, to cry, to scream. Now, of all times…was it only a few weeks ago that the mere thought of him chasing after her would have made her nearly levitate off the ground in happiness? It felt like years, decades. Staring down at him, all those old feeling stumbled over themselves, and her heart fluttered and her stomach rolled.

She looked at Alex – Seth was out of the room, pacing outside the door leading to where Augusta was, like a dog anxious for the T-bone steak he could smell grilling on the other side -- and said, her tone soft, "Could you give me a minute?"

Alex glanced at Marcos – it didn't take much calculating to know exactly what was going on. But he had the courtesy not to press. After all, it wasn't like he'd staked any claim in Xanny, declared his intentions, actually even attempted to court her at all. He nodded, stiffly, and went to keep Seth from breaking down the other door.

She went to Marcos – he was as beautiful as ever, even more with that rugged look that had shaken up his normally smooth lines. She knelt down beside him. "You came here for me," she echoed at him, her tone gentler. "Why?"

Deep in his eyes, Xanny saw the hurt there, but he knew he deserved it. She saw that, too. "Because I love you," he said.

She stared at him, for several long moments. She knew he was waiting for her to say something, but…she just couldn't.

"Get some rest," she said, tucking the leftovers of a torn sheet up around him. "We'll talk later. After all _this_…is over." And she left him. Alone.

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Xanny could hardly stay still. The things going through her head…there were just too many. Relief at finally having Augusta back. Anxiety over what would happen next. Worry about if she would ever wake up and what sort of shape she would be in when – or if – she did. And curiously, a strange kind of resentment that lingered in the back of her mouth like a bitter aftertaste. And that was on top of all the other things she was feeling about everything else. Not the least of which was about Marcos. But the sounds that were coming from the other room, where Augusta was…poor Gus, Xanny thought. Whatever mistakes she had made, she was paying for them.

Sands, on the other hand, had about had it.

"I feel fucking useless," he growled at her. "We got Augusta back, fine. Your boyfriend Marcos is here to take you home. I don't see why we're all huddling about like we're fighting a goddam war—"

"Do not blaspheme," snapped Father Mateo as he came out of the room that was being used as a temporary hospital, and headed toward the front of the chapel. He gestured to Xanny to follow him.

"Where are you going?" Sands demanded, annoyed that the person he'd chosen to bitch at was being dragged away. Xanny's answer was just as infuriating – she just shrugged.

Behind the altar was a small room that was obviously used as a preparation room for the priests – a sacristy, if Xanny's memory was correct. Father Mateo was pulling out a long ribbon of cloth, deep purple, from one of the drawers. He turned to Xanny with a grave expression on his face.

"We are going to perform an exorcism," he told her in a low, calm voice.

She scowled. "What's that, when you drive demons out of someone? But I thought Blackheart was the demon, and he's…he's not here, is he?"

"Nevertheless," the priest said in that same tranquil tone, "whatever exactly happened to Augusta while she was in Blackheart's presence…this rite is a precaution, that could help her. It was her own act of will to pick up that rosary – therefore her will is behind rejecting this dark force that has hold on her. But one does not associate intimately with demons and not have marks. The wounds left on her soul need purging before they can heal. The most effective way to do that would be for her to make a confession, but as she is not conscious, and we have no way of knowing exactly why, this ceremony is our only alternative." He looked her dead in the eye. "You may hear things from the other room while we are doing this. I must insist that you not allow Seth Gecko to enter, no matter what he hears. Nor you yourself, nor any of you."

Xanny considered this. "I don't know if I can stop Seth," she said. "But I'll do everything I can."

Seeing her troubled look, Fr. Mateo put a compassionate hand on Xanny's arm. "Brother Malachi is not a priest, that is true, but he is an extremely good exorcist. The Good Lord chose to give him this gift – that he is here, now, able and willing to perform one on your sister, this is a sign of Providence. Have faith, Xanny."

The use of her nickname made her smile. He always called her Alexandra. And then he hurried off, the purple stole flapping behind him.

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It was not easy. If Alex hadn't helped her, she didn't think it would be possible. Some of the sounds that came through that closed door – Xanny was afraid to go through it, and was glad that she didn't have to.

Seth, however, was going insane. Xanny inserted herself between him and the door, even going so far as getting sandwiched intimately between him and it. At these moments, Alex came to her rescue, helping to pull Seth back. He cussed and swore at her, and she calmly repeated what Father Mateo had told Sands (who had taken off, thoroughly disgusted by everything currently happening and the apparent inaction of those involved). _Don't blaspheme_. This only seemed to piss him off worse, but Alex was bigger than the wiry Seth Gecko, and kept it from coming to blows.

Finally, at one particularly horrid scream, Seth got to her so quick, before Alex could even respond, and seemed about ready to pick Xanny up and toss her across the room. She countered with a low blow to his gonads, half-crippling him, and then gave him a sharp upper-curve to his jaw, which flatted him on his back. Then she sat on his torso, and by then Alex had come to her rescue, pinning Seth to the ground by his legs, so that he couldn't throw Xanny off.

"You can't do anything!" she shouted in his face. "Just stay down!"

"You're just jealous!" Seth railed up at her. "Jealous because –" and then he floundered, so angry and so worried that he couldn't think beyond that.

She gave him a sardonic grin. "You stupid idiot, she's my twin sister! And quite frankly, _she's_ too good for _you_!" Then she laughed. "And_ I_ broke up with _you_, dummy. I'm keeping you out of there for _both_ your good!"

"Wait a minute," Alex said softly, standing and coming around closer to the door. "You hear that?"

Seth and Xanny looked at him, Seth up-side down, Xanny right-side-up. "What?" they both said together.

"Nothing," Alex said. "The room's gone quiet."

Both realized this for the first time. And it felt worse than the screams. Holding their collective breath, they stared at the door, lying on the floor in the same position – and then, as if by sheer willpower, the door popped open.

"Is she all right?" Xanny asked before Seth could.

Brother Malachi nodded his head. "For now. It will take time for…well, it will take time." He frowned at the position Xanny and Seth were in, but instead of a rebuke, he said, "You can stop restraining him now, Alexandra. Seth, you may see Augusta in a moment, but we must talk first."

"What else is there for us to do?" Alex asked, as Xanny got off of Seth.

Xanny looked at him. How he had gotten caught up in this mess, she realized, she would never know. It wasn't even his fight – he was just unfortunate enough to have gotten mixed up with Seth, and now he was in a world of trouble far over his head. Guilt added to the landslide that had been slowly crushing her throughout the night. She thought she would be emotionally flattened under the weight.

"We must destroy the Titty Twister," Brother Malachi answered, "and everything inside it. Then this place will be free of the demonic presence that had plagued it these several decades."

"Seth said there were hundreds of vampires," Xanny said. "He said everyone he was with when they were at the Titty Twister was killed, except for that girl, Kate. We're not any bigger than that group – maybe one more," she added, upon a quick recount. "But what difference does that make? What can we do?"

"We have weapons Seth and his friends did not consider," Malachi answered. "And the mistakes he and his friends made were to put themselves inside the hornet's nest rather than outside it. The evil there is considerably strong, and weak souls stand no chance against it. That is why you must be outside. And we will go during the day, when they all sleep."

"Blackheart doesn't sleep," Xanny said, and wondered how exactly she knew.

Malachi shook his head. "No, he does not. And he is the source of all the evil. The lesser demons flock to him."

"Lesser demons?" Seth parroted, confused. Apparently being talked about like he wasn't there hadn't been bothering him much, but he reminded them that he was there with his obvious question.

"That is all a vampire is," the little brother said. "A lesser demon, demoted to the lowest course of human possession. They animate corpses. Why else do you think their natural shapes are so deformed? Yes, they can appear normal, perhaps they possess, in their fallen angelic natures, some shape-changing ability, for what is a demon but an angel cast from heaven?"

The others stared at him, rapt. "You really believe this stuff, don't you?" Alex asked, his voice low.

"Don't you?" Xanny asked him in return, although his comment hadn't been directed at her.

Alex shrugged. "I…I don't know what I believe anymore. I personally thought God took no more interest in me than I do in a fly on my windshield. But…" He turned his gaze to Brother Malachi, who was smiling at him.

"So, what," Seth interrupted, "we're going to go marching back into the Titty Twister and kill some more vampires?" He looked a bit pale at the notion.

"Apparently, you and your former crew didn't do things right the first time, Xanny reminded him.

"HA!" Seth barked, more incredulous than humored. "Oh, really?" he asked, thick with sarcasm.

"Yes," Malachi answered for her. "Your first mistake was to become entrapped in their lair. It was the lure of evil that make you vulnerable to them."

Seth seemed to be getting annoyed. "Like we had a choice!"

"_You had a choice_!" Xanny said, not shouting, but her voice was like a fist, and then she pulled back, not wanting to get into another brawl with Seth. She just didn't have it in her.

"She is right," Malachi said, pulling Seth's irritation away from her. "You had a choice to enter the Titty Twister. Once inside, your fate was sealed, as was the fate of those around you. Even the family that you took hostage – yes, Seth, I know about them – and your brother, although he would have made the choice as freely as you did. What happened to you was your own doing. Your struggles may have done some damage, and by the Grace of God your own life and the girl's was spared. But it was not enough."

Seth had been slowly going more and more red in the face, but he seemed to completely lack any voice to defend himself, which surprised Xanny. Seth Gecko always had something to say.

"So if we can't go inside the Titty Twister," Alex said reasonably, "how can we kill any vampires?"

"I said we would destroy the Titty Twister," Malachi said, and his mouth seemed to twist in distaste at even speaking the name of that bar from hell. "In the daytime, the vampires are helpless. Demolish their home and God's own Sun will wipe them out. They will be helpless."

"And Blackheart?" Xanny asked.

"Leave him to me and Father Mateo," Malachi said. Then he turned to Seth. "Augusta is sleeping. Good, natural sleep. When she came awake, she asked for you. We don't see the harm in letting you come in and hold her hand – but you should not wake her, Seth."

Seth scrambled to his feet, and Xanny felt a strange rush of affection as she watched him eagerly scamper past Brother Malachi to sit at Augusta's beside.

"He really loves her," she whispered.

Alex looked at her. Then he looked back at Malachi. "So I take it we're off guard duty?" he asked.

Brother Malachi nodded, silent, and retreated to the front pew of the church, where he immersed himself, again, in prayer. Xanny knew that she should do what Brother Malachi was doing. But all she wanted for herself at that moment…was to get out of there.

"Want to go find someplace else to talk?" Alex asked her, reading her mind.

"I'd love to," she said, her heart so heavy she wondered how she could even get her feet to carry her out the door.


	18. Spark

Disclaimer: Hey, guys, look! I'm making soup! Seth and El Ray are owned by Tarantino and Rodriguez. Sands is owned by Rodriguez. Blackheart is owned by Marvel Comics. Alex Tully is owned by Fox, although they don't seem to want him. I do own Xanny, Augusta and Marcos. And that's it.

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Eighteen: Spark

The bar was clean, well-lit, and relatively middle class, and Xanny was perfectly happy to take a seat way in the back, away from everyone, and sit quietly, sipping at double shot of whiskey and trying very hard to stop thinking.

Alex had been relatively quiet since their shared exodus from St. Mateo's, but now he regarded her with the kind of curiosity that could only prelude a question. She looked at him and sighed – a heavy sigh she felt from the depths of her lungs.

"You know, you don't seem very happy."

She arched an eyebrow at his too-obvious comment. She certainly didn't want to snap at him, but it couldn't go without reply. "What reason do I have to be happy?"

"Well, you did get your sister back." He took a sip from his gin and tonic and offered her a sardonic grin. "After you were pretty worried."

"I'm still worried," Xanny grumbled. "Augusta's not like me. She's been with that…that _thing_ for how long? I don't know, a few days…I was in his presence for five minutes and it knocked me out cold. But she doesn't…she doesn't _believe_ like I do."

Alex frowned. "You consider yourself a believer, then?"

"A rather new-age term for it, but yeah, I guess so," Xanny said. "I haven't been the truest of believers, but I was trying to, before…all of this." She flapped her hand to accentuate the point.

"Hurm," he hurmed, glaring down into his glass.

"I take it you're not," she said, happy to find a switch in focus. "A believer, I mean."

He shook his head. "Not really, no. But…well, like I said, after all of this. I don't know what to think."

"You said you didn't think God paid any attention to you," she said with a frown. "Before, when Brother Malachi was giving us his 'go to war' speech. Can I ask why?"

Alex seemed to squirm a little in his seat. Maybe before he would have been willing to just blurt out his bitterness and his dented faith, but right now he seemed rather reluctant to speak ill of God. "I just…don't have much proof that God gives a crap about me, that's all."

Xanny waited. Either he was going to share or he wasn't. After a few moments, she said, "I used to think that, too. Spent a lot of years running around with Seth and his brother, doing whatever I pleased. It never made me happy. Even when I thought it did, I wasn't ever. Not once, really." She chuckled, breaking into a smile then. "You know when I was happiest? When I had just gotten out of prison, and I was working for this low budget detective agency, and I just had enough money to pay for a cheap roof over my head and some mac and cheese. It was small and it wasn't much of anything, but it was _mine_. And it was so _uncomplicated._ And then I saw that Seth Gecko had kidnapped Augusta Baxton on television and then my life went straight down the crapper again. Oh, sure, most people would think that finding out you're the long-lost-heir to a shitload of money would be proof-positive that God loved you, but for me, it was enough for me to just be free. And I mean _really_ free. Money just ties you down again. With a million dollars comes a million problems."

Alex chuckled. "I guess most people would say money isn't important unless you don't have any."

"I used to not have any," Xanny said firmly, "and it still wasn't important."

He regarded her. "So you were in prison? For how long?"

"About two years." She looked back at him. He had a shadow about him that suggested maybe he'd done some time himself. "You?"

"Only a month, but it was enough."

She nodded. "Prison is enough to make you think you're one step away from hell, and that real hell can't be much worse. But somehow…" she shrugged, and smiled, a genuine smile, although it wasn't terribly wide.

"You get out," Alex agreed. "Yeah. So what exactly were you in for?"

"Accomplice to armed robbery," she said calmly. "It could have gotten me sent away for a lot longer, but I… cooperated."

"You mean you –"

"Yeah, yeah, squealed, stooled, narced, whatever you wanna call it. Seth was so mad at me I thought he was going to kill me." She shook her head. "Seems like small potatoes now. But I didn't finger him or Ritchie, not like you think. I assisted in helping certain law-enforcement agencies regain private property. And I pointed some fingers at some fences that led to some bigger fish, which was what they really wanted. I tired hard to keep Seth and Ritchie out of it, but Seth got it into his head that I needed rescuing, and say what you will about the man, he's pretty loyal." Her expression turned wistful. "He really was, for the most part. You just couldn't push that last card. 'The brother card.'" She made quotes in the air with her fingers. "Everything else took a back-seat to Ritchie." She shrugged again, pushing the thoughts away. "Well, it's long since over. So what about you? What was your month in the clink for?"

"Assault and battery," Alex said, and seemed ashamed and proud of it at the same time.

"Who'd you try to kill?" she asked, reading between the lines.

"My wife." Alex smiled at her in a tight little way, and she felt a strange chill.

"Why?" she breathed.

"Well, it turns out," Alex said, steepling his fingers over his drink, "that the woman who had made me think she loved me, and had made me love her, was actually working for some very unpleasant men who wanted to manipulate me into driving in a very illegal race for them. I played along, for a while, because they had set it all up to look like a kidnapping."

"Your wife made you think they had kidnapped her?" Xanny clarified, horrorstruck.

Alex nodded. "I bought it, for a good while, too, until I figured out that she was with them. So I dropped out of the race and I disappeared for a while…and then one day I stumbled across her. Just by accident. I don't even know what I was thinking. I mean, my life before her had been a shit-hole. And then she put me back together again, only to let someone else use me. It sort of…tipped me over the edge, you know?"

Xanny nodded, even though she didn't. She couldn't imagine that level of betrayal. It made what Marcos had done to her seem petty. But then again, to give your life to someone, to be completely and utterly devoted to them, and then find out that they're using you? She'd be tempted to kill the person responsible, too.

"So I flipped out," he went on. "I don't remember exactly what happened. I know my story didn't float with the cops. But I didn't actually hurt her, so I only got a month. So I guess it's just_ attempted_ assault and battery." He took a heavy swallow of his drink, and then let out a bitter laugh. "So I just sunk right back into the pit, doing what I did before…driving the getaway car. I don't ask what my passengers do, I just take the money and drive. It's how I ended up out here."

She chuckled, breaking the mood. "You're like Jason Stratham…the _Transporter_ guy."

He frowned at her, although he was still smiling. It was a damn cute expression and it struck her. "Don't think I've seen that one."

She shook her head. "Not important. So you're a getaway driver. Explains why Seth took an interest in you." Her eyes narrowed as she regarded him. "He could use someone like you. Someone he doesn't have to carry all the time. Someone who could probably help carry him."

Alex shook his head. "I don't know…after all this." He gestured with his hand.

"Yeah, I don't blame you. Maybe you should consider getting a better life than this. Like the one you had with your wife – only without the whole, you know … betrayal thing." Suddenly she felt like an ass. "I'm sorry, ignore me, I guess I just don't think before I speak—"

"No, it's okay," he said, reaching out and putting his hand on hers. "You're right. I mean, before, with everything, I just didn't think God paid any attention to me, or if he did, he was just a vindictive bastard. But now, I'm starting to wonder."

"That's where it starts," Xanny said, liking the feeling of his fingers closing around hers. Then he was pulling at her. "Where are we going?"

"Come on, let's dance," he said, and she realized that the music playing had attracted several couples, many of them middle-aged, who were swaying slowly to a gentle beat. At first Xanny laughed as Alex drew her nearer, but after a short time, just rocking to a low, steady rhythm, the distraction lost its hold, and the heavy feeling came back to her.

Like a planet pulled by gravity, Xanny was drawn closer to him, and then, before she knew it, he had his arms around her and he was holding her, and she was pressing her face against his chest, and just letting it all go. She closed her eyes, feeling how good it felt to be so close to someone who wasn't complicated, who didn't expect anything from her, who didn't want her to change or conform, but was just there for her, and happy to be so.

Somehow, they were outside, and he was kissing her, and she was kissing him back, against the cool brick wall in the soft night air. His hands on her felt gentle and firm, and yet he didn't take advantage of her, which just excited her more. How long they kissed she wasn't sure, but when they parted for air, and she looked up at him, somewhere in the haze of her brain, she half-wished that it was Marcos there, like it had been when things were new and fresh, before everything got complicated.

The thought pulled her up short. She blinked up at Alex, seeing him for the attractive, good man that he was. He deserved better. She looked closer at his face, and saw a hesitant expression, and then she realized that he hadn't come up for air – he'd stopped on purpose.

"This…this isn't right," he said, shaking his head. "It's not…you're not…"

She leaned back against the wall, suddenly very cold without a warm body against her. "It's Marcos, isn't it?"

"Well, _yeah_," he said, as if it were obvious. "I mean, you didn't exactly mention him when we were doing the whole…getting to know you part." He looked mildly hurt, but was doing his best to brush it away. "I mean, the man comes across an entire country just to find you, and for his trouble gets beaten up and nearly _eaten_ by…_vampires_." He seemed hardly able to say the word. "And you…" He frowned at her. "You can jump in here anywhere."

Xanny wilted. She actually felt guilty…both for Alex, and for Marcos. He was probably wondering where the hell she was, right now, and if anyone told him that she'd taken off with Alex, well, he was a smart man – he could add. And that thought gave her a strange twinge in her heart.

She sighed. "It's a long story."

"Heard that one before." He gave her a very, _don't weasel me, it degrades you_ look.

"Yes, I was involved with him," she said. "Hell…I was _in love_ with him." She gave Alex a smirk that was entirely too plucky for the moment. "You know how I told you that Seth and I were once together? Well, Marcos was once _Augusta's fiancée_. So I guess you could say that she and I sort of…traded." She made a crossing motion with her fingers, resulting in folded arms. Then she shrugged, palms up. "But he couldn't…deal with me, I guess. My blue hair, my bad breeding." No, that was too bitter, she told herself. "Mostly, he couldn't deal with the fact that I was the black sheep of the family, and the people he was in business with were horrid, stuck-up snobs who looked down their noses at me, and punished him financially for it. Sure, he's set for life, but these rich people…"she shook her head, snorting. "They just don't think like you and me, you know? Nothing is ever enough for them. So he started to distance himself from me, because of the scandal our relationship was causing him."

Alex scowled darkly. "Well, that doesn't sound like the kind of man you'd tolerate for long."

"Hence, why I agreed to this stupid trip. Albeit not knowing exactly what it would eventually entail." She threw up her hands. "All right, there is it."

Alex's scowl softened. "Well, apparently he cared enough about you to come after you. I'd say that constitutes as a change of heart."

It was Xanny's turn to glower at him. "Whose side are you on, anyway?"

He stepped closer to her, putting his warm hands on her shoulders. "Yours, Xan. I know what it's like to not know exactly what you want. And I know what it's like to have someone you love turn on you." He shrugged one shoulder. "Bottom line, I sometimes think that day, when I saw my wife…if she had said something, if she had dropped to her knees and begged me to forgive her for betraying me like she did…I don't know what would have happened. Sometimes I worry I acted before I would have found out."

She sighed deeply. "You're a good man, Alex Tully."

He chuckled, his large hands messaging her shoulders warmly. "There are plenty of police authorities in Texas that wouldn't agree with you. But I'll tell you this. If you're sure it's over between you and Marcos, well…you're good at finding people."

She smiled up at him. "We…" she said, and swallowed, finding her voice, "we need to get back to the church."

"Yeah," he said, his voice heavy. "Yeah, I guess we do."

She stepped away from the wall, and then paused. "But there's a stop I want to make first," she said. "Something I have to do." And she gave a little tug to a strand of unfamiliar white hair on her own head.

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When Augusta came to, she was aware of different things. The cold, gentle scrape of the beads around her neck. The strange firmness of the cot beneath her. The ache of her body, the spinning in her head. And a warm hand grasping hers.

She turned her head to the side and opened her eyes, to find Seth smiling at her. He looked so much older than he had before, mostly because his hair, that jet-black, was streaked with tufts of grey.

"Thank God," Seth whispered, stroking her forehead. The act was soothing. "Hey there, Gus. Glad you came back."

She blinked rapidly, memory flooding the gates. "Where's Marcos?" she asked, her voice crackly, like an old fire.

"He's fine," Seth assured her. "Bruised ribs, mostly, but he's not hurt. He's resting in the other room."

Augusta blinked a few more times, then shut her eyes. She winced with the effort to think – so many things flowing through her conscious mind, she had to find the right ones. "Is…is Xanny with him?" she asked.

Seth considered answering. "I don't know. I don't think so."

Suddenly, Augusta groaned. She winced again and pulled away from Seth, nearly rolling over onto her other side. "God," she whimpered. "Oh, God, oh God…"

"No, shhh, it's all right," Seth assured her. "Gus, please—"

There was another man there. He was tall, dark-haired, and had an air of authority about him that normally Augusta would have disliked. But he was gentle, and he seemed to radiate a presence that pushed the dark shadows back. "It's all right," he said, a bit more convincing than Seth. "You're safe here. Drink." He pressed a cup of water to her lips.

She looked around. She was in an unfamiliar place, made of rough stone and cheap wood, nailed together by poorly paid carpenters. And yet it seemed the loveliest place on Earth. "Where am I?" she asked, looking at Seth again.

"A little church in San Mateo," Seth answered her. "You're safe. We got you away from Blackheart."

She shook her head. "Seems to me I remember running away, but…" Then, abruptly, she tried to lift herself up onto her elbows. "Seriously? He's not…"

"No," the man said, and Augusta realized he was a priest, from the gleam of white amidst the black collar around his neck. "Seth is right, you are safe here."

Augusta let herself fall back onto the cot. "Thank God," she muttered. She lifted her hands and pressed them to her face. She wanted to start crying…she couldn't understand herself, couldn't understand the things whipping through her mind, or the emotions that seemed to take hold of her like seizures.

Seth cradled her in his arms. "Gus, it's okay, really." She pulled one hand away from her face to reach across and grasp the sleeve of Seth's shirt. The dragon tattoo was still there, bold as ever, curling up the side of his neck like a living thing.

"No," she said. "No, it isn't. Oh, Seth, just…just hold me, can't you?"

He tried to hold her, lying down as she was, and it seemed to comfort her for a short time. "I've behaved so badly," she murmured against his shoulder.

After a time, when she felt she could actually sit up again, she gently pushed Seth away. The priest looked at her, knowingly.

"Seth," she said, stroking the side of his face, "could you…please…give me a few minutes alone with Father…?"

"Mateo," Seth introduced, although his tone was disappointed. "Everyone seems to want to keep me from you, even you."

She grasped him by the chin, pulling him closer. "You stupid…" And then she lifted up her head and kissed him lightly. "Go. I promise I'll call for you when I'm done. Please?"

Sighing, Seth nodded, and obeyed. And Augusta made a tenuous and rather embarrassed confession to the priest, who, through even the worst parts, did not speak one word of judgment upon her. And she felt better for it. She was filled with a deep sense of shame, but it had dissipated the more she talked, and when she was done, even the darkest corners had been washed out and she felt…strange. Something like clean, but not quite.

And then Fr. Mateo had read to her a gospel passage, something about a woman who had a demon, and she had driven him out, but she had made no attempt to fill her life with anything more worthy, so the demon had returned and brought seven more, worse than him, with him. He told her that she was the woman. The demon had been driven out, but now was the time to make the choice.

Augusta had never, not once, ever, considered herself a religious person. Sure, she had gone through the motions to please her family, but once they were gone, she had done as she pleased. And she had resented Xanny for bringing it all back to her.

But now, she understood.

"For your penance," Father Mateo said gently, producing a small bottle, that fit neatly into the palm of her hand, made of plastic, with a small golden cross on the front, "you are to keep this on you at all times. You will know when to use it."

Augusta took the bottle. She tucked it up under the hem of her ruined dress, into the elastic waistband of her underwear, to move to a safer place when she had better clothes.

"Where's Xanny?" Augusta asked Fr. Mateo, after he was done and he stood up to leave the room.

"She went out for some air," Fr. Mateo answered. "Would you like to see her when she comes back?"

"Yes, please," Augusta said, and it seemed that her wished was granted only a few moments after Fr. Mateo left the room. She heard the familiar voice outside, heard Fr. Mateo repeat her request, and then Xanny was in the room.

Augusta took one look at her and almost felt like crying from some twisted kind of joy. Xanny's hair was a bright, bright blue.


	19. Calm

Disclaimer: Hey, guys, look! I'm making soup! Seth and El Ray are owned by Tarantino and Rodriguez. Sands is owned by Rodriguez. Blackheart is owned by Marvel Comics. Alex Tully is owned by Fox, although they don't seem to want him. I do own Xanny, Augusta and Marcos. And that's it.

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Nineteen: Calm

It wasn't just blue. It wan an intense, electric blue. Not like the duller blue it had been before, where it was faded and muted against the darker blonde of her hair. Augusta could barely remember, but she could have sworn Xanny's hair had been white before, like her own. Now, it glowed like a piece of the sea, in the middle of the Caribbean, with the sun hitting it at full light.

Augusta smiled. She extended her arm, motioning for Xanny to come closer. She was so overcome, she couldn't verbalize her request, but Xanny came, and bent down the more insistent Augusta's gesture became.

Suddenly Augusta had her around the neck and was pulling her close. Both arms were around her, and Xanny almost didn't know how to react. Then, coming back to herself, she put her arms around Augusta's shoulders, smoothing her hair with one hand.

"I'm sorry," Augusta said. "I'm so, so sorry."

For a long moment, Xanny didn't speak. "How do you feel?" she finally said.

"Like I just escaped the worst hangover in history," Augusta said, easing her grip and laying back on the cot. She gripped Xanny's hand, however, to keep her sister close. "Weak and tired, mostly. But I have this awful feeling that I should feel much, much worse."

With nowhere else to sit, Xanny just squatted down on the floor beside the cot. The sun was starting to rise outside, and as the small stained-glass window faced the east, rays of sun cast colored splotches across the old army blanket on Augusta's legs. "I know how you feel, mostly," she said.

"Look, Xan—"

Xanny shook her head. "You don't owe me an explanation," she declared, and then glanced toward the door. "At least, that's what Fr. Mateo said. He said that you didn't have to talk about it. You should put it behind you."

"But it _wasn't_ because of _you_ that I was angry," Augusta pressed on. "It wasn't even really because of Seth. I don't even know _what_ it was."

Xanny eyed her. "Yes, you do, but you don't have to tell me."

Augusta squeezed Xanny's fingers. "I don't think you're a bad sister, Xanny," she said. "I don't think you're a boring goodie-two-shoes."

Xanny barked a quick, high laugh. "I wish I was, you know? Goodie-two-shoes live nice boring little lives. I'd settle for a whole bushel-full of boring right now."

Augusta smiled at her, hesitant. "I just don't want you to secretly hate me, you know?"

"If I hated you, I certainly wouldn't keep it a secret, you know that," Xanny said. "Did you see how I cold-cocked Seth after he did that whole 'hugging the wrong girl' routine? Or did you take off too quickly for that?"

"Seth told me," Augusta said, and there was a twisted kind of satisfaction on her face. "But he told me why he hugged you, and I'm sorry I was stupid and jealous. I don't even think that's what I was, either. It's like there's always been this hole inside of me. Something missing. And somehow that…that person…" Xanny carefully noted that Augusta could not physically say Blackheart's name, "got inside it. But it was me, it was all me, and nobody's fault but mine. Anyway, I think Seth owed you that hug, after not believing you for all those years."

"Yeah, well, hell will freeze over before I do it again," Seth said from the doorway. Xanny sighed and looked at him over her shoulder.

"Private moment, Gecko," she said. "Sister stuff. Butt out."

"Well, I would, but your boyfriend in there is whining for you."

Xanny almost said, "Which one?" Augusta, to her surprise, seemed to instantly catch the mistake, although Xanny never actually made it.

"So what happened while I was gone?" she said, looking at Xanny with wide eyes.

Xanny blushed. "Long story."

Seth came closer, and he was giving Xanny a look that was either completely blank or completely knowing – Seth had a bad habit of making those two looks identical. Then he said, "The hair looks good."

She looked up at him, and she smiled, feeling that strange rush of affection again. "Thanks. Yours isn't too bad, either."

Seth's hand went to the streaks of grey. "Yeah, well, I seem to be under some stress lately." His gaze fell on Augusta. "So, you ready to quit lounging around in bed?"

"If that's an offer to help me get out of this thing, I'll take it." Gingerly, Augusta got herself sitting up, and stayed that way for a while, getting her balance back and her head back on her shoulders. She looked like hell – the expensive dress she'd been wearing, the one Blackheart had given her in El Tule, was in shreds. It just went to prove that the nicer you looked before you went through hell, the worse you looked coming out the other side.

"I brought you some clothes," Xanny said, pointing to a pair of jeans and a shirt slung over a nearby chair.

"I brought you both some coffee," Seth said, offering the two women the Styrofoam cups he'd been carrying.

"Where'd you get this from?" Xanny asked, taking it gratefully.

"Padre had a coffee maker stashed in his private quarters," Seth said.

"Seth!" Xanny cried.

"What?" he looked innocent.

"Come on, Seth, that's a bit low," Augusta agreed.

"Low?"

"Violating a man's privacy, a _priest's_ privacy for that matter!" Xanny pulled herself up to her feet, but didn't put her coffee down.

"Well, it isn't like he's here to stop me," Seth said.

"He's not?" Augusta said.

"No, he and Brother Malachi took off about a half-hour ago. I asked them where they were going, and they said they had something to do. They didn't say when they'd be back."

Xanny and Augusta exchanged looks. Then Augusta said, "Is that the little monk's name, Brother Malachi? He speaks the strangest kind of Spanish. It's like I can understand him as well as if we were talking in English. I hope they haven't gone and done anything foolish."

"Foolish is the last thing I'd worry that Brother Malachi would do," Xanny assured her, although the feeling still ate at her. "And I mean that."

"And I meant it when I said your boyfriend is whining for you," Seth said, irritation clear on his face. "Come on, he crossed two countries for you, that's got to count for something." He grasped Augusta's hand and gave her a wink.

Xanny rolled her eyes. "Change out of those clothes, Gus, and then get some more rest, if you can," she told Augusta, and left the room.

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Alex was dozing quietly on one of the pews – although he was a wide-framed man, he had managed to make enough room for himself and looked almost comfortable.

Xanny stood and stared down at him for a moment. It was strange – she hadn't expected to feel this strongly about him. And the fact that he wasn't taking advantage of her vulnerable state – well, it just made it harder not to want him. But did she want him for the right reasons? she asked herself. He was handsome, rougher looking than Marcos – his features had character, whereas Marcos had good looks factory made and handed to him on a silver platter.

But it wasn't just about looks. It was about honor, and passion, and morality, and devotion. This man, admittedly, had nearly killed his ex-wife because she'd betrayed him. Although at the moment, she'd agreed he had good reason to be that pissed, now, it gave her pause…sleeping, he seemed so peaceful, his face so gentle. But was there a monster lurking underneath?

She'd had her share of monsters in her life. She didn't want another. And on top of that, he was a getaway driver. One step removed from a bank robber, like Seth, like Ritchie. Did she really need to take that trip again? It hadn't gone so well the first time, she told herself.

She quickly tossed a blanket over him, and then made her way to the room on the other side of the chapel, where Marcos was sitting.

He'd been in the chair all night, and it seemed as if his ribs were a bit better, although he would need a solid doctor's visit when all this was over. He was squirming in his bandages, and when he saw her he nearly leapt to his feet.

"Where have you been?" he asked, only managing to scoot to the edge of his chair, and he winced with that effort. "Seth told me – Seth, of all people! He told me that you went to town with some…guy. Alex something."

"I did," Xanny nodded, sitting down on a bare wooden chair, holding her coffee with both hands, resting them between her knees. Then, she extended it to him. "Want the other half?"

Marcos nodded to the Styrofoam cup on the small table beside him. "Seth brought me one, too. Funny, him being considerate, considering the last time we were all together, you and I were chasing him and his brother for kidnapping your sister."

"Things changed," she said, watching as he fussed with his bandages.

"So who is this Alex guy?" Marcos asked, and Xanny wanted to laugh at the strain it cost him to keep the words sounding casual.

"Someone we met in El Ray. More like Seth met, really. He's been helping us out. He saved me before from Blackheart – or at least provided me a getaway."

Marcos looked at her, pausing in his fruitless efforts. "Uh huh," he said. "And you decided to take him out for a late night drink to thank him?"

It was a conscious effort to keep her tone level. "You don't have any right to be jealous, you know."

He scoffed. "Who said I'm jealous?"

She was so, so tempted to throw the rest of the hot coffee on him. She liked the coffee too much. "Marcos, knock it off. You're really starting to make me mad."

He looked down at his knees, and then up at her. "All right, I'm jealous. Look, I'm sorry I'm an idiot, I just…" he shrugged, and Xanny found she was getting damn tired of the gesture. "I don't know what I expected, but I didn't expect you to move on so fast."

"Why not? You did."

"That's not really fair," Marcos said. "My company was in trouble, I had to devote time to work—"

"Because it would be _such_ a tragedy if you brought in ten thousand dollars less a day, wouldn't it?" She fought against the scorn, but it dripped from her voice.

He paused, and his cheeks actually reddened. "I could tell you that you just don't understand, but—"

"No, you'd be right, I wouldn't understand." She sighed, deeply. She felt oddly detached at the moment. "I'm not from your world, Marcos. I don't see things like you do." She glanced toward the other room. "Augusta and Seth are like that, too. Although at least she doesn't seem to care too much about making more money."

Marcos looked abashed, like a little boy who'd just been rebuked. "It's all I know how to do, Xanny," he said, his voice small. "It's all I've ever _done_."

She looked back at him, and her heart nearly broke. He was trying – he was trying so, so hard, and she wasn't cutting him any slack at all. "I know, baby," she whispered, but in spite of her tender tone, she didn't draw closer to him. "But you gotta understand…those people, the ones who make it possible for you to do that…they don't _like_ me. They want you to choose. And I guess I do, too. Which isn't fair. But I can't live with someone who treats me like a shameful secret—"

He seemed almost ready to cry, the way his voice broke. "You're _not_ a shameful secret!"

She closed her eyes, and drew a heavy breath. The way his lips quivered, the aching sincerity in his voice, it drove a knife into her. Her tears were already hot in her eyes, ready to streak down her cheeks. Her throat was closing. "Marcos, we were stupid. We should have known better. It just can't work. It can't ever work – it's not fair to make either of us choose. We'd just resent each other for the rest of our lives, and I can't damn myself or you to that kind of life." She closed her eyes and felt the hot tears spill against her cheeks.

She heard him, heard the effort he exerted to get to his feet and cross to her. The shock of his touch was so blessedly familiar and alien at the same time. He was on his knees in front of her, and his hands were around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him. One snaked to snatch away her coffee before she could spill it, before he cupped her face in his hands.

"When you left, I knew my choice was already made for me, the day I fell in love with you. I don't care whatever else happens to me, Xanny. I just have to have you in my life."

She was crying now, burying her face in his neck, and he was running his fingers through her freshly-dyed blue hair, and he was laughing at it, caressing it, murmuring how much he'd missed it. For a moment, a brief shining moment, she let herself believe that he could change, and so could she, and that it would work out—

"It came between us once," she said, pulling away for air, pressing her hand against his shoulder. "It will again. _It will_."

He shook his head. "I love you, Alexandra Baxton. I won't ever let anything come between us again."

"But it _will!_" She was nearly whining now, her fists against his upper chest. He winced a bit, but didn't push her away. "It's just who we _are_!"

"Love may start out as a feeling, Xanny," he said, grasping her hands and squeezing them right. "But it becomes a choice. Are we going to give up on each other just because it won't be _easy_? When have either of us ever given in to what is easy? You know yourself, and me, better than that."

She couldn't answer. He drew her closer to him again, and he was kissing her, as if that were his final argument. It was an insistent kiss, demanding an answer. When it broke, Xanny had to stand up, to get herself away.

"I don't know," she whispered. "Please, just…just let me think, I just don't know." And she left the room.


	20. Tension

Disclaimer: Hey, guys, look

Disclaimer: Hey, guys, look! I'm making soup! Seth and El Ray are owned by Tarantino and Rodriguez. Sands is owned by Rodriguez. Blackheart is owned by Marvel Comics. Alex Tully is owned by Fox, although they don't seem to want him. I do own Xanny, Augusta and Marcos. And that's it.

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Twenty: Tension

Augusta pushed off the army blanket. Seth looked at her, at where the blanket crumpled onto the floor, and scrambled to his feet. "What are you doing?"

"Getting up," she said irritably. "All this lying down is giving me a headache."

"No, take it easy," Seth insisted, trying to stop her.

But there wasn't any going back. She got her legs over the side, pulled herself into a sitting position, and as the cot wasn't that sturdy, it was only a matter of time before the thing either collapsed, or she had to get to her feet. Her hand went to her hair as she rested on the edge for the precious minute she had. "God, is there a brush around here?"

"Um…not sure." Seth grasped at the errant strands of pillow-head that had turned her normally smooth tresses into a cotton-candy mess.

"Crap," she muttered. "My bike is probably still in El Tule. What about Xanny's bike, did she drive hers here?"

"Actually, I did," Seth said.

Augusta frowned up at him. "You'll have to tell me the story of how you did that and lived to tell the tale. But later…could you go check in her pack and see if you can find me a comb or brush or something?" She pulled herself to her feet.

"Yeah, sure," Seth sighed, defeated. He grasped her elbow to keep her steady. "You want to just stand around here and wait?"

"No, if this is a church, they're probably pews out there," she said motioning toward the door. "Set me in one of those. But don't take your sweet time."

Seth grinned and obeyed. Right now, Augusta could have asked him to bring her a piece of sidewalk from the mythological City of Gold and he would have tried to accommodate her. He felt a strange kind of happiness, almost a contentedness, having her awake, walking and talking as if nothing had happened.

He went outside, but couldn't remember where he had parked Xanny's bike. So much had happened in the last day or so…or had to been two days? It felt like years, actually, now that he thought about it. So he started a slow circle around the church, thinking of all the places it could be.

It wasn't there.

Seth swore, and then was glad he was outside the church. Xanny was going to kill him. Unless…no, he was damn sure he'd locked up that bike. He was too afraid of Xanny's wrath to not be more careful. He had the bruise still on his jaw to prove she was not to be trifled with.

Seth stood and thought for a moment. The morning had gotten brighter, and hotter, and it felt good after the long chilly night. Well, there was nothing for it. He would have to go in and tell her – maybe ask _her_ where she had put her bike. He knew she'd taken off with that Alex the night before, but maybe she'd seen it before then and moved it. Steeling himself, he went back inside.

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Alex looked at the young woman with Xanny's face as she settled herself on the pew just a few feet from him. She tolerated Seth hovering around her for a few minutes, and Alex couldn't help but be amused – Seth was not the kind he ever pictured doting on someone. But she had the look about her of being pampered most of her life – there was a softness to her, that Xanny distinctly lacked. Her edges were filed down, delicate and supple, and yet there was a certain unyieldingness in her eyes that said she was very, very used to having her own way. It wasn't obvious to someone who didn't know Xanny very well. It was easy to see why Seth liked her – she was a precious thing, a gem or a priceless doll.

But Xanny…Alex knew, from the first second he looked at Augusta, what it was precisely that he liked about Xanny. She was bendable, but not breakable. She was firm, but not hard. Her unyieldingness, for she had it just the same, didn't come from years of being indulged, but from years of knowing she could only depend on herself. She was also precious, but not spoiled. And he felt a strange ache such as he hadn't felt since the first time he'd learned the truth about his ex-wife.

Augusta turned and looked at him. Her eyes narrowed. "You're new," she said. "Alex, right?"

Alex felt a little start, but he nodded his head and extended his hand politely, which she shook. "Alex Tully."

"You're a driver, right? Seth told me a little about you." She shook her head. "You poor thing, how did you get mixed up in all of this?"

Alex opened his mouth to reply, but couldn't. What was he going to say, _Well, I'm interested in your sister, in case she dumps that other guy Marcos? _He wasn't sure that would go over too well. After all, hadn't Augusta been with Marcos once herself? It was a fifty-fifty shot, really; she could be pissed because she had been pulling for Marcos herself, or she could be relieved because she didn't think Marcos any better for her sister than for herself. "Well, things just sort of—" he made a turning motion with the index finger of each hand, like a wheel, "—snowballed."

She nodded. "Seth thinks a lot of you," she said.

Alex started again. "Does he?"

"Well, it's not like he's gushing about you…Seth doesn't gush about anyone. But I can tell. You two met in El Ray, right?" She frowned, eyeing him up and down. "You don't seem like the kind of guy who would end up in El Ray."

Alex chuckled. "I took a shower before I got there."

She smiled and laughed back, softly. Then she frowned. "Funny," she murmured.

He waited, but she didn't expand. "Funny?" he prodded. Her frown deepened, and Alex felt like he was being X-rayed. He gave a nervous laugh. "C'mon, don't leave me hanging."

She gave a slight shake of her head. "I figured it couldn't be Sands," she muttered, and then brightened. "Well, after this is over," she said, "if you're in legal trouble, which I'm surmising you are, because you were in El Ray, the least I can do to thank you for helping out is get you back into the States. I know some people."

The abruptness of the subject change, let alone what she was implying, brought him up short for a moment. "Uh…thanks." It was all he could think to say.

She grinned, nodded, and then looked up. Seth was coming back, and he seemed to be empty-handed.

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Seth had tried the room that Marcos was in first. It was an awkward conversation – Marcos was on his feet, still struggling with the bandages Seth had wrapped around his ribcage to give him more support, and he looked like hell. Not just from a bad night of sleep, upright in a chair, coupled with just having been roughed up by a gang of vampires, but he looked like Seth had the first morning he'd woken up after that horrible night in the Titty Twister – as if he were fully realizing he'd lost something vital to him, and could never replace it, and was struggling just not to despair and give up. Seth knew that look because he'd seen it in his own mirror. Seth instantly felt for him – he knew Xanny had been in here, and she obviously wasn't now, put it together with that look, equaled things hadn't gone terribly well.

"Um," Seth said, feeling uncharacteristically off-kilter, "where did Xanny go?" It was cold and distant, but Seth knew he didn't want to be coddled either when he was in that state – it wouldn't have done him any good anyway, and he and Marcos didn't even know each other, except by association with two certain sisters.

Marcos shrugged. "Dunno. She left a few minutes ago. I thought she was with Augusta, or…something." Something equaling Someone. Seth instantly thought of Alex – he had been gravitating around Xanny these last several days. And Xanny always did have a soft spot for a bad boy. He knew from personal experience.

"Okay." Seth wanted to say something. It was not in his character to give a flying shit about anyone except himself and his brother, but Ritchie was long dead. All that leftover stuff, sure, he was in love with Augusta, but…it just wasn't the same. And it irritated him, that he wanted to bond with this near-stranger, just like he had wanted to bond with Alex. He'd been looking for a replacement.

Seth Gecko did not need anyone. Except Augusta, he realized. Yes, he needed her very much. But not anyone else. Not since Ritchie.

He turned and abruptly left the room. Out in the main body of the chapel, Alex, who had been snoozing on one of the wider, back pews, had been chatting quietly with Augusta. She saw Seth and smiled, but it was mixed with distinct irritation. "I said not to take your sweet time, sweet heart," she said, her voice carrying an edge.

Seth gave her a dirty look. "Gus, Xanny's bike isn't out there." He looked at Alex. "Did you see her this morning?"

"No, I mean," Alex said, still waking up, apparently, "I heard her come out of that room—" he looked to where Marcos was now standing in the doorway, glowering at all of them, and simultaneously trying to hide it, "—and then she came out, and she went outside."

"She went outside?" Augusta asked.

"She wasn't there when I went out," Seth said. "And her bike was missing."

Augusta frowned. "Seth, how long have the holy men been gone? I mean, it just seems like…it's been a while."

A moment of silence lapsed over them, and they all three thought it at the same time. Alex was the first to say it. "You don't think that she…that they would have…"

Seth shook his head. "That would be _stupid_," he insisted, as much to himself as to them.

Augusta said calmly, "Not for them. She knew where they went, but the question is, did she follow?" And then, outside, they heard a very loud roar.

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After Xanny had calmed herself down, outside in the slowly-warming morning air, she realized something. It was as if the whole world had suddenly gone still, and she could see and hear things that were so clear, she couldn't believe she had missed them.

_They said they had something to do. They didn't say when they'd be back._

Augusta's eyes, as clear as her own, knowing as she knew.

Father Mateo and Brother Malachi had gone to the Titty Twister.

The sun had cleared the horizon and it blazed behind her back, casing a long shadow on the sandy desert floor. She had been so self-centered, so absorbed in her petty problems, that she hadn't paid attention.

"No," she said aloud, arguing with what her intuition was telling her. "No, he said, he said that we had to destroy the Titty Twister."

_He said you couldn't go inside._

"But that doesn't mean we can't go at all! I mean, why would they…why would they do that?"

_Because you were all too caught up in your human dramas. Didn't you listen to what they were telling you? Only a strong soul can possibly withstand going up against a flock of vampires. And Malachi said you were to leave Blackheart to him. _

"But that doesn't mean—no, I'll prove it to you." She walked over to her bike, which had been sitting, parked up against the side of the church where Seth had left it, and found the keys in the saddlebag, where he had wisely left them. She searched her pockets for a moment, found the scapular that Sands had given her, and the crucifix that was in her pocket – she didn't remember when she had taken it from her neck, but she hadn't taken it off her person completely, which was good.

She revved up the bike and took off, using memory from the night before, pushing the accelerator and going as fast as she could. She almost wished that she could have gotten Alex to drive her – nobody knew how to drive like that man! – but no, this was something she had to do alone. She couldn't drag everyone else into it. They were all weak, all of them, even her. But this was something she just couldn't let go.

It seemed to take forever – the sun had made its climb, hand over fist, into the clear blue of the day, and there were no clouds. The heat was starting to beat on the leather of her jacket, as if it were old Indian drums, and she worried that her sweat would be blue from the fresh dye-job. But she reached it – animated corpse that it was, sitting like a bleached skeleton in the middle of the day, at the edge of that cliff.

Beside the Titty Twister, practically in its shadow, were two dots – one in a black robe, and the other in rough brown, both bleached and worn by the sun and sand. She did not stop at a safe distance – there wasn't any time for that. She pulled right up to the drive of the Titty Twister and got off her bike so fast it nearly capsized. They turned to look at her, Fr. Mateo in concern, but Brother Malachi in knowing.

"I was hoping it would be you," Brother Malachi said.

"What are you doing?" Xanny asked, realizing their toes were practically at the cliff's edge. The back of the Titty Twister, she realized for the first time, was perched on the lip of a gorge, which was much deeper than it had seemed at a distance.

"We are measuring our efforts," Fr. Mateo said. He looked reluctant, so Brother Malachi spoke for him.

"Come see," the monk said.

Hesitant, Xanny inched forward, but the ground felt solid, and in the presence of these two, she felt safe. She craned her neck, and looked down as much as she dared – and gasped.

It was a temple. It seemed older than the Earth, carved into layer after layer, each one a civilization represented. Archeologists would have drooled, howled, and chased their tails at this find – but Xanny saw it for what it was.

"Skulls," she whispered. "It's built on skulls."

The dead were dry husks, but they were still easily discernable as skeletons. They piled into the gorge by the hundreds, the thousands. Piled against the other walls were the various goods that had come by the Titty Twister over the centuries, but they were nothing compared to that heap of bones.

"It's a common myth," Brother Malachi said in his perfect Spanish, "that when you get bitten by a vampire, you become one. This isn't true. A demon's real goal is to cast souls into hell. So they would camp here, wait for weak men and women to come, lead them into sin, and then kill them before repentance could take hold. And those corpses left behind, well, some were used for other demons to occupy, but I suspect most were cast here."

Xanny swallowed, feeling sick. "It's so big," she whispered. "I mean, huge."

"Yes," Fr. Mateo said with a stern expression. "We could use more help. I suspect that once Blackheart goes, the nest will follow, saving us some trouble."

"But," Xanny said, remembering why she had chased them out here, "But you said, Brother Malachi, that we were going to destroy the Titty Twister. _We._ Why did you leave us behind?"

The little monk sighed. "Child, you are so young. And the young always believe that their problems are so serious, and so important. When you grow old, you will understand. But for now, you must accept – none of you are strong enough to go up against this evil. To put you in its path would be to endanger your souls."

Xanny shook her head. "No, we want to help, and we are strong, I mean, Augusta is recovering, and there's so much—Augusta and I have made up, what could be better?"

Brother Malachi gave a small, wistful smile – an expression she'd never seen on his face, and imagined it didn't appear often. "I am sorry, dear girl."

"For what?" Xanny cried, starting to lose her patience. "Look, just tell me, what's wrong? What do we have to do?"

She heard Father Mateo sigh behind her, but Brother Malachi looked her in the eyes, with the steely resolve of putting a willful child to rights. "Xanny, do you know your friends? Your sister? She has narrowly escaped damnation of her soul – she is not ready to go back against such a threat. And the man who loves her, Seth? He still walks a dark path, he is too proud to truly change his ways yet. He needs time. Alex? He doesn't know what he believes, and doubt is the worst thing one could bring into this kind of conflict. Marcos does not even believe anything we are saying is true."

He paused. She pressed. "And me? What's _my_ crutch?"

"You are distracted by the choice you must make with your life," Father Mateo answered for him. She turned to the priest. "You think your path lies at a fork, and you think you have to choose. It pulls at your heart, and your focus is divided. You must be unified to stand against evil. Each and all these things, Alexandra, Blackheart will use them as weapons, freely offered to him, against you and those you love. And the cost would be worse than your death. It would be your souls. "

Brother Malachi drew a long breath. "It is already too late, Father," he said.

Xanny spun around. "What? What are you talking about?" she asked, feeling an unearthly sense of panic.

"They are already here," Brother Malachi said, and he pointed to a familiar, extremely fast car, filled with a number of people Xanny knew all too well.


	21. Storm

Disclaimer: Hey, guys, look

Disclaimer: Hey, guys, look! I'm making soup! Seth and El Ray are owned by Tarantino and Rodriguez. Sands is owned by Rodriguez. Blackheart is owned by Marvel Comics. Alex Tully is owned by Fox, although they don't seem to want him. I do own Xanny, Augusta and Marcos. And that's it.

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Twenty-One: Storm

Agent Sheldon Jeffery Sands pulled up in his car, got out, and went to the trunk. Slowly, the occupants of the church came out – Seth first, followed on his heels by Alex, then Augusta, and finally, Marcos.

"Flame throwers," Sands said, pulling out some complicated twisted piece of metal that looked something like a gun but not quite. "Crossbows. Gasoline. Holy Water, although I figured there'd be more in the church. And holy metals for all of us."

Augusta walked closer, her feet making light scuffing noises on the packed sand. She went right up to Sands, and he paused in his unloading to look at her. Then, without explanation, she pulled back her fist and clocked him across the jaw.

Sands stumbled back a bit, more taken by surprise than hurt, as Augusta was still pretty weak. He looked at her, eyebrows arched, but he didn't seem particularly angry. In fact, to someone who knew him, he would have seemed turned on. "What was that for?"

"For not warning me," she said.

"What was I supposed to say?" he asked. "'Don't go into the Titty Twister, there's a demon that lives there that wants to steal your soul?' Would you have believed me?"

She scowled at him. "It's still your fault," she grumbled, spinning on her heel and walking away. Sands slapped his sides with his leather-gloved hands in mild frustration.

Seth came forward, alarmed at Augusta's greeting of the agent. He scowled at Sands. "What do you expect us to do with all of this?"

"Vampire slayers? Slay some vampires maybe?" Sands said. "Bullets don't do much good, as I think your new friend found out." He glanced at Alex.

"Even when they're dipped in holy water," Alex confirmed. "Slows them down but doesn't stop them."

"Yeah, I knew that already," Seth said, looking at the contents of Sands' trunk. Something metallic caught his eye, and he reached in, lifting up what could only have been a katana sword. He shook his head. "It's not a good idea, not with the priest and the monk gone."

"A priest, a monk and an ex-con go into a bar," Augusta muttered. "Sounds like a bad joke."

"So you're taking orders from a priest now?" Sands taunted. "I thought you had more sense than that, Gecko."

Seth looked ruffled. He was an easy man to rile. "I don't take orders from _anybody_," he snapped, his hand around the katana's handle, nearly brandishing it.

Sands smirked. "Prove it."

"What, and take orders from you?" Alex countered, knowing where this was going – he'd had Seth's number from pretty much minute one.

"I'm not giving orders. I'm providing an opportunity," Sands said coolly. He looked to Augusta. "You think Blackheart is going to take losing you lightly, Augusta? He went after Xanny, not once but _twice_."

"You knew about the second time?" Alex asked, startled.

"There _was_ a second time?" Augusta said, and she paled.

"Of course I knew about it," Sands said. "But now that he's been hit in his pride, he's going to be twice as dangerous. And if the priest and the monk are already at the Titty Twister," he said, turning to Seth, "then you're not going without them, you're going to _meet_ them. It's pretty simple."

"Hang on a second," Marcos said, coming to the forefront. He walked up to Sands and met his eyes, straight on. "What exactly is your interest in this, Sheldon?"

None of them had heard Sands addressed by his first name before – he had explicitly told them all to call him Sands. Alex, in particular, noticed how Marcos had the ability to take control of the situation, and had no compunction with staring down a prickly character like Sands.

"Getting rid of a demon isn't interest enough?" the agent replied icily.

Marcos shook his head. "You're C.I.A. You do things for very specific reasons. Security outside the U.S. equals security inside. So what's the angle? You think this business is a threat to more than just this little trio of towns?"

"Damn straight I do," Sands said without hesitation. "A demon lord running around loose this close to the border? Excuse me if that makes it a Central Intelligence matter."

"And you believe in this stuff," Marcos said, although without scorn. It was a statement, not a question.

"I believe in whatever gets the job done."

"So your faith is for sale," Marcos finished. He shook his head. "Kind of explains why the holy men left us all behind, didn't they?" He looked behind him. "Former bank robbers, concubines, wall-street wolves, and…" he glanced at Alex. "Well, whatever you are. We're not much good against a demon and his vampire lackeys, are we?"

Augusta, who was very pale, shook her head. "If Xanny went in there…I can't let her face it alone. I'll go."

Seth jumped, looking at Augusta. "You're not going anywhere without me," he said.

"If it's for Xanny, just give me a crossbow and tell me where to point," Alex said, and he tossed Marcos a mildly challenging look.

"Ditto," Marcos said, although he sounded defeated. "Well, you got us, Sheldon. Just show us where to sign on the dotted line."

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"No, no, no…this isn't happening," Xanny muttered as she saw the two cars pull up, one with Sands and Marcos in it, the other with Alex, Seth and Augusta. They stopped on either side of her bike, flanking it, and started to pile out. They were armed with weapons like medieval warriors – swords, crossbows…and was that gasoline?

Marcos reached her first. "What are you doing out here?" he asked.

"What are _you_?" she returned, noticing how he wasn't walking completely upright, but still favoring his left side. She turned to Augusta. "You shouldn't be here. None of you should be. You have to go back."

"We're not going back," Seth said, and Xanny's jaw nearly dropped to see that he was carrying a katana. "The monk said we had to destroy the Titty Twister. Well, we're going to." He lifted up one of the strange metal weapons that Xanny recognized as some kind of flame thrower. "What do you think, Sands, from the top down?"

"Sounds best," Sands agreed, carrying the small tank of gasoline. He handed one to Alex. "Start pouring over whatever you can reach. And reach high. We want to soak as much of the walls as we can."

Xanny wanted to panic, but grasped herself internally with both hands. Panic wasn't going to help. She had to be rational. She spun on her heel, ignoring the calls of her sister behind her, and went around the building to find Fr. Mateo and Brother Malachi on the other side.

They had retreated to their car, and there was something like a campfire sitting beside it. Father Mateo was reading from a small black book, and it sounded like more Latin. Sitting in the middle of the campfire was something like a coffee tin, and inside it smoked heavy plumes of incense. It was being tended to by Brother Malachi, who then produced a wax candle that had various religious decorations down the sides. He lit the candle from the fire, and set into a wide-bottomed candle holder, where it sat on the sand, burning brightly even though it was full morning now, and the sun had completely risen. The heat was starting to come up off the sand around them, but it seemed that both the priest and the monk were completely cool and relaxed.

She couldn't speak when she approached them. She had the crazy urge to just throw herself down on her knees, but the thought of her friends – yes, all of them, even that god-forsaken Sands person – dousing the Titty Twister with gasoline and attempting to light it on fire made her insides twist and squirm. Something wasn't right here. Something was very, very wrong.

"They'll try," Brother Malachi said, looking up at her, reading her thoughts. "They won't succeed. Blackheart will not let his sanctuary crumble easily. And while the vampires fear the sun, he does not. It may cause him pain, but it will not destroy his vessel, as he does not inhabit a human shell, a corpse, as the vampires do. We must exorcise Blackheart from this place, and it will not be easy."

"They're in danger," Xanny said, her voice tight. "Aren't they?"

The monk seemed to consider this. "As long as they do not enter the Titty Twister, at least not freely," he said, "they should be relatively safe."

Xanny shook her head. "They'll want to go inside. I know Seth – he'll want to go inside to make sure they're all dead."

Father Mateo continued to pray in Latin. Brother Malachi straightened and took her hand. "Your job," he said, "is to make sure that they don't."

She nodded, understanding. She turned and went back toward the Titty Twister, whose walls were dark with the gasoline. Seth had just disappeared around the corner, and Xanny realized he was making gouges in the walls with his sword. Alex was on the other side, with another katana sword, doing the same, and Marco was examining one of the flame throwers. Sands seemed to be standing back from all of it, examining the situation, a crossbow leaning up against his leg. Augusta was beside him.

She first approached Alex, coming up to him and grasping his arm to get him to look at her. He seemed startled, but instantly noticing her anxious expression, he gave her his attention.

"Don't go inside," she said. "Whatever you go, no matter what happens, Alex, promise me you won't go inside."

"I won't," he said, but it didn't sound convincing.

"Not even if I get dragged in there, kicking and screaming!" she pressed. "Don't come help me! Whatever happens, you have to stay out here, you all do!"

He nodded, and his frown clearly told her it was a lost cause. "All right, Xanny, I hear you."

She walked away, almost pushing herself from him in frustration. She tried Seth next but he hardly listened to her. He slashed at the wooden flanks as if he were carving a piece of meat, and there was such a murderous look in his eye that she felt afraid of him, even now, after all this time.

Then she went to Marcos and repeated her message. Marcos almost laughed at her. "You think I want to go inside there, after last time?" he said. "No thanks."

"No, Marcos," she pressed, "even if I get dragged in there, or Augusta, you can't come rescue us."

"That's crazy, Xanny, I can't –"

"You've got bruised ribs and God-knows what else," Xanny said. "You remember what they did to you before – it'll be worse this time, they'll be angry because you got away. You have to stay out here. Promise me!" She grabbed the lapels of his shirt and shook him, making him wince, but she didn't back down. "Promise!"

He hesitated, and then said, "I can't."

Almost growling in her dissatisfaction, Xanny stormed away. Augusta was in front of her – Augusta would understand, she had been there, she had touched that evil.

Finally, she reached her sister and Sands, and they were aiming their crossbows up in the air.

"I did archery in college, got some awards," Augusta was saying, "but that was about hitting targets, not about poking holes."

"We need holes in the roof to let in the sun, that'll be the most effective," Sands was saying. "The fire will eat the rest, but we have to weaken them or else they may be able to put the fire out. I don't know how, but these bastards are nothing if not resilient."

Augusta shouldered the crossbow, aiming high, and then she realized that Xanny was there. "You're back!" she said, lowering the crossbow. "What were you doing? I couldn't keep up with you, you were practically running."

"Father Mateo and Brother Malachi are on the other side," Xanny explained quickly. "They're preparing something, I don't know what – they say that the target has to be Blackheart. You want to try and burn down the Titty Twister, fine – but whatever happens, you can't go inside it of your own free will."

"Fine here," Sands said without hesitation, and it was the first time Xanny believed one of them when they said it. It would have been Sands, the one she gave the least about, she thought bitterly.

"You think I want to go back in there?" Augusta said, and Xanny felt a giddy sense of relief – her sister _did_ understand.

"Well, I can't seem to get anywhere with any of _them_." Xanny motioned behind her with a sweep of her hand. "They can't come after us if we get captured, and they sure as hell can't go inside to try and kill any vampires. It's too dangerous." She looked down at the crossbow in Augusta's hands. "You said you won awards in archery? Think you still have the skills?"

"Probably a few," Augusta said. "Why?"

"Because if any of the boys try to go inside the Titty Twister – you have to shoot them."

Augusta's eyes went wide. Sands let out a low whistle. "I always knew you were nuts," he muttered.

Xanny ignored him. "It's the best way I can think to make them understand." She picked up the crossbow at Sands' feet and loaded an arrow into it. "Not to kill, but in an arm or a leg, I don't care. I'd rather have them wounded than dead. Or worse, damned."

"Xan, you…you're serious?" Augusta said softly.

"Very," Xanny replied. "Gus, you have to trust me. You have to put some faith in me. I was told that we can't enter the Titty Twister of our own free will, but there's no saying that we won't get dragged in there. If that happens, we have to keep the boys from trying to save us. You and I will more than likely be the key targets, and they'll want to come after us. If that happens, we can't scream, cry for help, anything. Can you handle that?"

"It won't matter," Augusta said. "It won't stop Seth, and Marcos and Alex are both going to be wanting to prove themselves to you, men in their strutting and competing—"

"Gus!" Xanny near-shouted in her face. "Focus here! Keep back, as far as you can. Don't make yourself a target. And if you get captured, do what you have to, to keep them from coming to save you!"

"You know," Sands said in that utterly-annoying deadpan of his, "this is all a moot point, really. None of those things can come out in the daytime, and Blackheart can't touch you when you're wearing your holy medals, or whatever—" he reached over and pulled up the beads of Xanny's rosary, still sitting around Augusta's neck – "so you're worrying a whole lot for something that's pretty unlikely."

Xanny glared at him, and shook her head. "Your faith is for sale in anything that does you some good," she said, her voice low and cold. "Thin armor is easy to break."

Sands looked at her for a moment, sneered, and went back to the trunk of his car to produce another crossbow. "That looks good, boys!" he called to the other three. "Let's get this bonfire started!"


	22. Battle

Disclaimer: Hey, guys, look! I'm making soup! Seth and El Ray are owned by Tarantino and Rodriguez. Sands is owned by Rodriguez. Blackheart is owned by Marvel Comics. Alex Tully is owned by Fox, although they don't seem to want him. I do own Xanny, Augusta and Marcos. And that's it.

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Chapter Twenty-Two: Battle

The match was struck, the flame-thrower in Marcos' hands was lit, and he started to drench the Titty Twister in long flowing streams of flame. The fire was so thick and lush, it was like water in its waves, cascading up and down, encasing the shack-like building in its foaming richness.

It seemed, for one beautiful, shining moment, as if Sands' plan was going to work. The fire had teeth, and it was hungry – the walls were so covered with it that one could hardly see the wood underneath after a few moments. A shimmering curtain made of red and orange and yellow draped the entire structure. The flames reached high into the sky, brilliant scarlet fingers scraping at the blue of the day, the smoke dense and almost purple.

And then something very strange happened.

Xanny watched as dark, black smoke seemed to leak out from underneath the great crack where the walls met the ground. At first she thought it was oil, it was so thick and dense, but then it started to rise up, covering the fire. It seemed that where it touched the fire, the fire went out, making a hissing noise like an angry cat as it went. After a few moments, she was sure the others saw it too, for it was impossible to miss – it had climbed up to the roof and moved in on itself, so now the curtain was thick and nearly purple in its depth.

But it didn't stop there. After encasing the building, it started to rise. It peeled off the Titty Twister like a magician's cape revealing an illusion, and they all gasped, collectively, as if it were rehearsed, to see a building that had been burning so harshly, not have so much as a single scorch-mark on its wooden walls. Their eyes were pulled upward, watching as the black cloud was now becoming tall and narrow, like a funnel cloud, reaching up into the sky, and then it shot upward, an arrow fired of its own accord, and dissolved against the vivid blue of the sky.

For a second, nothing happened. And then, inexplicably, clouds started to form. These weren't soft, fluffy white clouds of lazy Sunday afternoons spent imagining shapes inside them, but angry gray, purple and black thunderheads, and suddenly the air around them was so humid they could hardly breath. The wind beat at their breasts, whipping their hair, and pushed and pulled at them so that they could hardly stand.

It happened in seconds – the first being a clear, gorgeous day, and the second being a dark, depressing sky that bulged with rain that wanted to spill, but didn't. It blotted out the sun, and there was a chill in the air that seeped into their bones in spite of the humidity.

In the dark shadow of the sky, Sands looked pale. "Holy shit," he muttered.

"Not even close," Augusta whispered.

Xanny looked at Sands. It was so petty, she almost couldn't say it, but she also couldn't help herself. "I told you so."

"Smooth," Marcos said, coming up to them. "All we did was make them mad."

"This isn't them," Xanny corrected them. "This isn't their doing. It's Blackheart. He's protecting them."

"Can they…" Alex seemed almost afraid to say it. "Can they come out? With the sun covered up like that?"

As if in answer, there was a heavy clanging sound from inside the Titty Twister. Then, the heavy wooden doors swung open.

"We're about to find out," Seth replied.

"Does everyone have something blessed on them?" Xanny cried, reaching into her shirt for that huge crucifix that she hadn't taken off once. "Seth?"

"Yeah," he replied, dry and nervous.

"Alex?"

"Something round and shiny," he muttered, his mind going numb from the prospect of what was going to come out that door.

"Marcos?"

"What?" he said, his voice hoarse. "I didn't…I mean, if Sands had them—"

Xanny didn't hesitate. She pulled off the crucifix and charged at Marcos, tossing it around his neck like a metal lasso. And then, with a shriek of, "STAY HERE!" she spun on her heel and ran in a wide arch, to come around to the campfire that Father Mateo and Brother Malachi made.

It was easier to spot than it had been before, with the sky having been darkened. But she was still a good twenty feet away from them when something exploded from that dark place, something with wings and claws and a high-pitched screeching voice that seemed to laugh and mock them and their pathetic effort.

Bats. Hundreds of bats exploded, and Seth could only see that night, six months ago, when he'd seen the same damn thing from inside the bar. He felt like he was still there, and the words came out of his mouth just the same as they had then.

"Oh, shit."

Xanny heard but she did not turn to look. She threw her hands up over her head and charged, keeping her eyes on that flame, smelling the smell of the incense as she approached, determined to reach it without having one of those ugly buggers land on her.

Marcos lifted up the flame thrower and fired a random loop into the sky. It smacked a small wave of creatures, and they screamed in pain, falling in bits and pieces of ash and cinder.

"Looks like he can't protect them when they're outside," Sands commented, going back to his trunk for another flame thrower. "Augusta?"

She had started firing into the air, and true to her word, her aim was good – she skewered a half-dozen of the bastards before she ran out of arrows. "Seth!" she called.

He was swinging the sword, and he was almost successful in keeping the monsters off him, beheading several and severing the wings of the rest. But many of them managed to make it to ground, and Augusta saw what she had seen inside the Titty Twister, the distorted bodies and inhuman faces, the mockery of life after death.

"Get to the car!" she cried, turning and running. "Get to the car! SETH! _Come on!_"

Alex and Marcos heard, and responded. They made it together to Alex's car, and since Sands' was closer, that was where Augusta ended up. Seth started to run, and tripped, and his sword slipped out of his hand—

Someone was on top of him. Brother Malachi was standing above him, one hand on Seth's shoulder and the other reaching up into the sky. He grasped one of the creatures right from the winds, and it burst into flame in his hand.

Seth gaped.

Calmly, Brother Malachi helped Seth to his feet, and they made a quick run-walk to the car, where the monk opened the door and pushed Seth inside. Then he turned and walked back toward the Titty Twister, both hands raised, and two more of the creatures met a fiery demise in his grip.

"Holy—" Sands started. "What…how can he…?"

"I knew I should have received Communion this morning," Augusta muttered. She was in the front seat, and Sands and Seth were both in the back. She turned to him, patting him down with her hands. "You're all right?"

"How did he do that?" Sands finally got out.

"I'm fine," Seth told her, although his tone was clearly communicating the opposite.

"Where did Xanny go?" she asked. "Did you see her?"

Seth shook his head. Augusta turned, and grasped the rosary she was holding – it had saved her once. She was willing to put her faith in it again. "Stay here," she said, and before either man could voice a protest, she was out of the car.

Seth, realizing what happened, lunged for the car door handle, but the cocking of a gun brought him up short. He turned to see Sands, pointing a weapon at him. "Don't fucking move," he growled.

"Are you out of your mind?" Seth said in his dangerously calm voice.

"Nobody is opening that door again," Sands said, and at that moment, several of the vampire creatures surrounded the car, clawing at the glass and the metal. "Those things are not getting in, and if I have to shoot you to keep them out, then I'll do it. You know I will."

Seth glared at the CIA agent. The katana was outside in the sand – he had forgotten it in his shock at seeing Brother Malachi be able to set the vampire bats on fire. If only he had it now…

Augusta ran across the sand, not stopping for anything, but just as she caught sight of a flash of fire on the other side of the Titty Twister, she slammed into something. Something black and very solid.

The impact of the blow knocked her backward, and for a moment, she was spread eagle, staring up into the heavily clouded sky. Then a face loomed over her. A face familiar in an intimate way.

"Hello, Augusta," Blackheart said.

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Xanny was kneeling in front of the fire, watching as those bat-monsters attempted to fling themselves at Father Mateo, but only succeeded in ending their pathetic lives in balls of weeping flame. Her forehead was glistening, but not with sweat – when she had reached the campfire, Father Mateo had murmured something and made the sign of the cross on her forehead with oil.

"How?" she managed, even as the smoke of the incense burned around her. She held the candle in both hands, feeling the protection it provided as if it were a tangible thing.

"Sanctifying Grace," was the simple answer. Father Mateo smiled at her gently, and it seemed so normal, in spite of the hell breaking loose about them. "Xanny, that candle has been blessed, as has the flame that burns on its wick. I want you to take that candle to the cavern directly behind the building, and drop it."

She blinked. "Why?"

"That is the fire that will destroy the Titty Twister."

She considered this for a moment. "I don't get it."

Father Mateo considered her patiently. In spite of the obvious emergency of the situation, he seemed willing to humor her, and not in a condescending way. "What don't you understand?"

"This is what Sands wanted to do," she said. "I mean, burn the Titty Twister. You could have come over and just blessed_ that_ fire, couldn't you?"

"Perhaps. But my help was not sought in that matter. Sands believes he can conquer anything if he has the right weapon. He does not realize the value of intention, or spirit. _Especially_ spirit. Once can only hope he does before it is too late for him. This ceremony that Brother Malachi and I have performed happens every year, on the eve of Easter, Holy Saturday, when the Easter Candle is lit and used in every baptism that year. That flame will destroy the shell of the Titty Twister."

"But it doesn't matter now," Xanny said, although she had gotten to her feet. "The sky is dark – they can come out now."

"Now, yes," Father Mateo said. "But not for always. Throw the candle, Alexandra, and have faith."

Xanny got up, and walked over to the chasm. The creatures brushed past her, and squealed in pain as they touched her, but they did not burst into flame as they had with the monk or the priest. Still, obediently, she made it to the chasm, and dropped the candle down.

And then she heard Augusta scream.

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"Did you see that?" Marcos asked Alex. They had barely looked at each other, only aware of the fact that they were trapped in a car together – both of them in love with Xanny, and suddenly, here they were. It was like a bad romantic comedy.

"I saw that bastard Sands pull on gun on Seth," Alex said, his voice harsh and angry. "But maybe he was right. If Seth had opened that door, those things would have gotten in."

"No, I mean—" Marcos had watched it happen. He had watched two of those things these guys claimed were vampires pick Augusta up by her shoulders and carry her, kicking and screaming, right into the maw of the Titty Twister. And he hadn't been able to do a damn thing. Just like last time, he told himself. He had tried to help Augusta, and couldn't.

"You mean?" Alex pressed, willing, as long as he was stuck with the guy, to hear him finish his sentence.

"They took Gus," Marcos said, despondent. "I mean they just _took_ her."

"Where? Who?"

"The vampires. Into the Titty Twister," he answered, although that had not been the order of the questions.

Alex whipped his head around. He saw a flash of black, and then nothing –and then something even more terrifying started to happen.

The vampires started to retreat toward the Titty Twister, leaving the dark sky blank behind them.

"Is this our chance?" Marcos said.

"I don't know," Alex said. "It could be a trap. And we can't go in there. Xanny said not to go in there."

"Of our own free will," Marcos quoted. "But what if we get captured?"

"_Allow_ ourselves to get captured?" Alex countered. "Doesn't that also fall under the whole 'free will' category?"

Marcos shook his head. "It was so much easier when the Geckos kidnapped Augusta," he muttered.

"Well," Alex said, "we can't just sit here, I mean—" he shook his head, grasping the steering wheel. He was tempted to start the car, but what good would that do? "When the air is clear, we should get out."

"And do what?" Marcos challenged.

"Find Xanny, for one," Alex said. "Make sure she's safe."

"I can live with that," Marcos said, his hand going to the door. "What do you have? Weapons wise?"

"A sword."

"I've got a crossbow."

"That'll do—" And then Alex's voice was cut off, mid-sentence. Xanny had just reappeared, her hair a bright, brilliant spot against the cold gray of the sky. She was walking through the stream of retreating vampires, right toward them. She stopped to pick something up…

A thunk beside then pulled his attention away, and he saw Sands come tumbling out of the backseat of his own car, Seth on top of him. He didn't know Seth very well, but he knew well enough the look on a man's face when he was going to kill.

"Shit," he swore, and opened his driver's side door. Seth had been flipped over Sands, and had landed on the trunk of the station wagon between their two cars. "This doesn't look good."


	23. Faith

Disclaimer: Hey, guys, look! I'm making soup! Seth and El Ray are owned by Tarantino and Rodriguez. Sands is owned by Rodriguez. Blackheart is owned by Marvel Comics. Alex Tully is owned by Fox, although they don't seem to want him. I do own Xanny, Augusta and Marcos. And that's it.

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Twenty-Three: Faith

They had her by her shoulders, and Augusta couldn't get hold of the rosary around her neck. Long claws dug into her skin, causing a horrible, screaming pain, and then, suddenly, she was flying, and she hit the ground.

Only it wasn't sand under her now. It was the inside of the Titty Twister. Those two…things…had carried her directly into it.

Just like Xanny had tried to warn her.

"Poor, poor Gus," came Blackheart's cold voice from a few feet away. She turned and saw him, and backed away. "The demons are coming home to roost. Did you think you could drive me away forever?"

"No," Augusta sighed. "Just one day at a time."

Blackheart clicked his tongue. "Those self-proclaimed holy men have filled your head with nonsense. You know the truth." He hovered closer to her, but still he didn't touch her. "You came to me freely once. You'll do so again."

She straightened, realizing that he hadn't laid a hand on her. Blackheart's touch still burned through her memory, causing her to cringe away and moan in longing at the same time. But now, she knew. She knew better.

"You tried to get my sister, twice," she said, conversationally. "She didn't want anything to do with you."

Blackheart chuckled, undaunted. He looked every bit as splendid as she remembered; the sleek lines of his long coat, the pale white fingers, dark hair, piercing eyes. He extended his hands out in a gesture of presentation. "Oh, you wish. Your sister is weak, you know this. She can't keep any part of her life in order. She runs away when she should fight, fights when she should run away. You're not getting some silly idea into your head that you should admire such incompetence, are you? Because that would be disappointing."

"Don't patronize me, demon," Augusta said with as much scorn as she could muster. Blackheart had still not tried to touch her, but he had paused, and was looking at her as if he'd like nothing more. Perhaps to strike her for her backtalk? She reached under the neck of her shirt and pulled out the rosary beads, stringing them along her fingers to show them to him. "You really should learn to love something else other than the sound of your own voice."

Blackheart looked at her beads, and laughed. "You're so silly, Gus," he said with a kind of familiarity that made her stomach wobble and lurch. He stepped closer to her, and she took a step back, as if compelled. She just couldn't bear to be that close to him. It was almost like a dance then, him moving forward, her going back. "What, do you think they'll be coming to rescue you? Save you? You know you're long past saving. You think a few measly 'I'm sorry's' have any power? A lifetime of rebellion is going to end with a few scratches and a wounded ego?" He was smiling at her in such a way, it unnerved her. She wanted so much to strike at him, but feared that if _she_ attempted to touch _him_, her protection might become null and void. "You're lying to yourself," he added in a sibilant hiss that seemed to ooze from the walls around her.

"Better my lie than your truth," she managed. She looked around. Was there anything stopping her? Was there anything to keep her from going through that door? Her back ached from where the talons of those creatures had gouged her, but otherwise, her path was clear and she was unhindered. She took several steps away from him, toward the door. "Give my regards to the devil."

"Oh, he knows your regard well enough," Blackheart said casually, and then, inexplicably, the door to the Titty Twister slammed shut. Augusta panicked and ran toward it, pulling at the heavy bar, remembering how it had opened for her before. But now, it was sealed.

Blackheart might not be able to touch her, but she was locked inside.

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Seth seethed. He would kill Sands, that was it. The second the man turned his back, he was dead. He would do it as painfully as possible, kidney punch him, knock the wind from his lungs before he punctured them, and then he would pound on both his temples with his fists until he finally took pity on the bastard and snapped his neck. He would be like Ritchie, cold and merciless, and Sands would die.

Because he'd made him sit here and watch while those things dragged Augusta away.

"Be reasonable, Seth," Sands said. "We're outmanned, outgunned…you go out there, you'll just get killed. And Blackheart doesn't want the girls dead. He wants us to go in. Look…they're retreating."

Seth turned his eyes and saw that in the wake of the two vampires that had carted Augusta off, the rest had started to pull back, circling around the roof of the Titty Twister, and were retreating inside it. They went through the holes, which were wide and many, but they still circled around the building, hovering just out of reach.

"So I guess that means," Seth said, trying so very hard to be cool, "that it's safe to get out of this fucking car."

There was a faint pop and click, and Sands turned his head in surprise, and Seth did not hesitate. He lunged at him, and Sands pulled the trigger, never one to be taken off guard – the bullet went through the window, shattering it. Seth had ducked and gotten his shoulder into a T-bone right against Sands' chest. He jerked up, catching Sands under the chin, and pressed against his windpipe.

"Nowhere to retreat now, mother-fucker," Seth growled into his face, but Sands was not done. He had somehow gotten his hand behind him and pulled open the handle on the inside of the door, and he and Seth went tumbling, head over feet, onto the ground.

The pop and click had come from Alex and Marcos getting out of the car. Sands kicked up with his feet and caught Seth with just enough leverage to send him flying into the priest's hood. Seth landed with a crash and rolled, but he was on his feet quickly, snarling like an angry dog.

"What the fuck are you doing?" trumpeted Alex's voice, across the slimy flapping sound of wings and the chittering vocals of those monstrous creatures flying overhead. He was on Seth in a flash, pinning him to the side of the car, and he pushed the katana that he held lengthwise against Seth's chest. Seth felt the press of the sharp blade and was brought up short.

"Fighting amongst ourselves isn't going to solve anything," Marcos said, walking over to Sands and picking up the gun he had dropped in his tumble. He pulled out the bullets and tossed them again, and then threw the gun at Sands. "Are you insane? We need everyone." Then he looked over his shoulder, and he saw Xanny, very close now, so close he could almost smell the fresh dye in her hair.

Then, very calmly, Sands stood up, brushing himself off, and said, "Did anyone happen to notice where Brother Malachi went?"

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Seth's discarded Katana lay gleaming on the ground, and Xanny picked it up. The oil on her forehead filled her nostrils with a sweet scent, and was comforting, almost exhilarating. And then she saw the door to the Titty Twister slam shut.

She had warned all of them not to go inside, and here she was, wanting to go in herself? _But Augusta is in there_, she told herself. _Someone has to get her out. _

_No, Augusta has to save herself. It's the only way._

She looked up. The vampires had pulled back and were circling over the Titty Twister. They hadn't fully retreated, but they were not swooping down anymore. A half-dozen or so had attempted to sweep her when she stepped out into the open, but now they hovered out of reach.

She squeezed the handle of the katana. She would like to take a swipe at a few. And then she looked around, and noticed something.

It was a sudden jolt to her system, so sudden that she almost didn't recognize it. But the evidence was staring her in the face.

She looked across the expanse of desert, toward where the trio of cars was parked. Sands on one side, the priest's station wagon in the middle, and Alex's racing car on the far end. The four men had gathered around, and it looked like Seth was being held back by a sword that matched the one in her hand, by Alex, who was wielding it. Sands was on the ground, looking as if he'd just been given a serious beating, and Marcos was yelling at all of them; she could hear the echo across the empty plain.

Sands got to his feet. She heard his question. "Did anyone see where Brother Malachi went?"

"More than that," Xanny said, startling the others with her sudden appearance, "does anyone happen to notice something missing?"

They looked around, bewildered. Xanny looked again, making sure that her eyes weren't playing tricks on her.

"Didn't you all kill a bunch of these things—" she motioned in the sky with the tip of her blade, "before, when they first attacked?"

"Yeah," Marcos said, "we got…we got some of them…"

"And there aren't any bodies on the ground." She pointed down. "Not a single one." And then, bizarrely, she smiled. "They said. They tried to tell us. Nothing will work. Nothing."

Seth had managed to catch his breath and calm down a bit. Xanny's sudden insane rambling seemed to pull him out of his murderous rage. "What are you talking about?" he said.

Alex pulled the blade away from Seth's chest, but kept between him and Sands. His attention, as well, was on Xanny. "You think they're not dead?" he said to her. "The ones we…killed, before…that they didn't die?"

"Human weapons just slow them down," she said. "It's not enough. You deal with creatures from hell…well, the only counter to hell is heaven, right? So you need heavenly things." She looked around at them all. "We don't qualify."

"What's that on your forehead?" Marcos said, stepping closer to her. His thumb touched the imprint on her forehead.

"Something I borrowed," she sighed. And then she remembered. The candle. "No, it's not our job to kill them," she said, staying on track. "We can't kill them. But we can distract them long enough."

"Long enough for what?"

She thought of the candle. "On the other side, Father Mateo and Brother Malachi…they were setting a trap. We just have to wait for it long enough for it to kick in. We need to buy them time."

"And how the hell do we do that?" Seth demanded.

Xanny looked back toward the Titty Twister. With Augusta inside, it was a high risk. "Somehow," she said, "we have to get Augusta out."

"That's gonna be kinda hard," Alex said. "With the fact that the door is sealed. And that we can't go in."

"No, we can't go in," she said, "but we can still open the door. It's risky, but if we can get the doors down, somehow, without going in, we can get her to come out."

"What makes you think that she can?" Marcos asked. "I mean, God-knows what they're—I mean—"

Xanny was smiling at him, shaking her head. "She's wearing my rosary," she said. "She knows they can't hurt her. They can barely touch her for long, that's why they had to sweep her into the bar so fast, and I'll be you money those two that took her are having no small pains for their trouble."

"What if we get caught too?" Sands demanded. "What then?"

"We do what we want Augusta to do," she said simply. "We leave. The only things keeping her in there are those doors. If they were opened, she could come out. I know she could. She was forced in there, they can't keep her if she didn't walk in willingly. Don't you understand? It's all about your will!" She glared up at Sands, wanting him to understand more than the rest.

"Just like that night six months ago," Seth said softly.

"Right," Xanny said, "but different. Much, much different. This time, we brought the right weapons. Whatever Brother Malachi is doing, I'm willing to put faith in it without having to know what it is. "

"So what do we do?" Alex said calmly.

"We get that door open. Sands," she said, turning to him, "get in your car, and drive. Bring back something high powered with a sharp edge – a buzz saw, chainsaw, I don't care. Anything that can help us."

"How come I have to go?" Sands demanded.

"Because you're the biggest heathen here," Seth growled at him. "And I still want to kill you. So take the out, while you can."


	24. Love

Disclaimer: Hey, guys, look! I'm making soup! Seth and El Ray are owned by Tarantino and Rodriguez. Sands is owned by Rodriguez. Blackheart is owned by Marvel Comics. Alex Tully is owned by Fox, although they don't seem to want him. I do own Xanny, Augusta and Marcos. And that's it.

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Twenty-Four: Love

Sands went. He didn't have much choice, even if he hadn't wanted to go, which he did. He had left behind all his weapons, though – the crossbows, flame throwers, the katanas – and only the katanas seemed remotely able to get the door to the Titty Twister open.

"Maybe we can ram it," Alex said. "Use my car."

"Might work, if we could get enough speed," Seth pointed out.

"Won't work," Marcos said.

"Why not?" Alex demanded.

"Because," Xanny said, "whoever's driving will wind up inside the Titty Twister. We can't have that. And who knows where Augusta is? You can't save her if you run her over."

"Well, we use a brick on the accelerator, then," Alex said. "Tie the wheel into position so it doesn't veer off."

"I don't think you could get the momentum going fast enough," Marcos said, meeting Alex's defensive tone with a milder one. "You'd just wreck your car. I've seen the bar across the door."

"So have I," Seth muttered. "He's right, Alex, it's a good idea but it won't work."

"We need to get closer, look at the door," Xanny said. "Maybe with me so close, Blackheart won't be able to resist the chance to snag me. Get the door to open."

"Oh, yeah, that's a brilliant idea," Marcos said with a mild touch of sarcasm. Damn him if he wasn't as cool as a brick, even in this crisis. "Use you as bait. No thanks."

"But we do need to get closer," Xanny insisted.

"You stay here," Alex said. He looked to Marcos. "Who goes?"

"We'll shoot for it," Seth said. "Rock, paper, scissors. Until someone wins."

They shot once. Seth was rock, Marcos was paper, and Alex was scissors. They did it again, and again – Marcos favored paper, and Alex wasn't about to give up scissors. Only when Seth finally chose paper, and both Marcos and Alex decided to try rock at the same time, did they get anywhere.

"You two," Seth said. "You going to be okay?"

"Take my sword, Marcos," Xanny said, handing it to him. She looked to Alex, at his sword, and nodded. "Watch each other's backs. Please."

Seth grasped Xanny's shoulders, to make sure she didn't go after them anyway, as Marcos and Alex made their way hesitantly across the desert floor. He pulled her closer, as she watched, practically hanging forward.

It was unbearable. Two men…Marcos, that she still loved, and Alex, who was starting to feel like a soul-mate to her…

Marcos reached the door first. He flipped the katana blade in his hand, using the handle, and tapped on the door. "Gus?" he shouted through the thick wood. "Are you in there?"

There was a faint reply. "Marcos? I'm here! Marcos, is that you?"

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Augusta had her back pressed to the door. She looked up, keeping her breathing even, as she watched the vampires roost on the ruined eaves of the roof. They hissed and spat down at her, but none of them dared approach. Even the tingling in her back, from where their claws had torn her, had faded. She wasn't quite sure the reason, but she wasn't going to question it at the moment.

There was a muffled thumping, followed by an equally muffled voice. "Gus? Are you in there?"

"Marcos?" she blurted, and then turned so that her shoulder was against the door. She pressed her ear against the thick wood and metal, her hand so flattened to the door that she could feel splinters digging into her palm. "I'm here! Is that you?"

"Are you against the door?" He tapped again. She balled her hand into a fist and rapped her knuckles against where she heard the thumping.

"Yes, right here!" she cried. And then she nearly jumped out of her skin, for Blackheart was a mere two feet behind her.

"Marcos," he purred. "How sweet. But if they think they can get this door open, against my will, they're in for a world of suffering."

"Get an original line," Augusta snarled at him, turning and swinging the crucifix at the head of the rosary toward him. He shifted, nearly floating in front of her in a short arc, and landed quite unscathed five feet from her.

"You really want him to come in?" Blackheart said. "Fine." And he snapped his fingers.

Augusta felt a brush of wind and a heavy gust of humid air, and suddenly the bar on the door slammed back. She knew it was a trick – and she screamed at him to stop.

She may as well have told the earth to stop spinning.

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"Watch out!" Alex bawled. Marcos turned his head in time to see one of those things come sweeping down, like some deformed eagle, and hover in the air not twenty feet above them. Alex had his sword out, but the creature wasn't even looking at him.

It was looking at Marcos, dead in the eye.

Marcos turned, pulling his sword up, but it made hardly any difference. The vampire screeched, plunged down and headed for him, straight on.

Marcos felt the sword pierce the creature's chest, but it made no difference. The force was already exerted – he felt his feet leaving the ground, and any second now he was going to be squashed like a pancake against the door behind him.

Except the door was open, and Marcos got his second look at the inside of the Titty Twister. The creature dropped him just inside the door, and then curved upward, the sword still in its chest, and rested on the top of a ruined wall, where Marcos could see the angry purple sky beyond.

"Marcos!" Augusta was shouting, and then she was kneeling beside him, getting her hand underneath his neck, trying to check him for injuries and revive him at once.

"I'm here," he said, his voice wheezy and dry. He knew before he even looked. The door to the Titty Twister had slammed shut again, and he was staring straight up into the eyes of one demon Blackheart.

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"NO!" Xanny nearly flew into the air, such was the force of her lunge forward, but Seth got his arm around her, his forearm plunging deep into her stomach, and while she dragged him a few feet, it was actually Alex, retreating backwards after seeing Marcos get sucked into the cursed bar like a piece of lint being swept by a hand broom, who really caught the force of her momentum, and shoved her back.

"To the car!" he bellowed at them. "Get to the car!"

Seth looked up and saw the circling vampires start to come around. They were picking them off, he realized. Luring them in, one by one. His skin twitching with the force of his loathing for these God-forsaken beings, he let Alex push both him and Xanny back toward Alex's car – again.

At least no one was putting a gun to his head this time, he thought wryly.

Alex pulled Xanny away from Seth and barreled her into the car through the driver's side. Seth got in the other way and they sandwiched her, which was a good thing, because the second she caught herself, she started to fight back, slippery as a wet cat.

"Let me go! Let me out!" she demanded.

Alex wrenched her arms away from Seth's door handle, pulling her back toward him, pinning her back against his chest, both hands clenched around her wrists as he folded them in an "X" against her own chest. "Xanny, calm down! He didn't go willingly, remember! He can walk out!"

She shook her head. "They can't get through the door. It was a stupid idea!" She kicked and pounded, slamming the dashboard several times, and Seth had to grasp her legs to keep her from kicking him like an angry donkey. Then, realizing she was a fish in a net, she suddenly went limp, and burst into tears.

Sudden going dead-fish was enough to get Alex to let her go, who hated holding her with such force. She slumped forward, and it was Seth who caught her, pulling her to his chest, as it seemed to be the refuge she preferred at the moment. "Hey," he said, rubbing her back. "Hey, it was a good plan. We tried. It was all we could do."

Xanny shook her head, grinding her forehead into Seth's chest with the movement. "It's my fault. It's _me_ he wants!"

Seth hesitated, not sure what exactly she was referring to, and figuring it was probably Blackheart who was the mysterious "he" of the moment, he continued to soothe her. "Marcos was wearing your crucifix," he reminded her. "It protected you, didn't it? It will protect him."

She didn't have anything to say for the moment; she just heaved into his chest, letting the last of her tremors pass. Seth looked to Alex, who just watched her, looking a bit like a kid who was just picked last at kickball.

"Xanny, I'm sorry," Alex said, his voice low, but carrying in the closeness of the car.

A long pause dragged over them, but finally Xanny said, "It isn't your fault." Another sob shuddered through her. "Seth," she moaned. "Oh, God, Seth…"

"I know," he told her gently. "I know." He stroked her hair. "Come on, we have to try again. Who knows, if we all get sucked inside, together, we might have a fighting chance."

That got something like a laugh from her, although it sounded more like a gurgle. She pulled away, wiping her face, and then her eyes looked past him, out the window.

Seth turned. Father Mateo was standing there, tapping the glass. Seth, curiously, did not hesitate to roll down the window.

"Are you three quite done?" Father Mateo asked.

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"Marcos," Blackheart said, as if greeting an old friend. "I was so sorry that our time together was cut short before. I have to say I'm quite glad to be given a second chance."

"I don't want anything to do with you, demon," Marcos said, getting onto his elbows. Augusta grasped the crucifix on his chest with one of her hands, pressing it against his heart. Oddly, it seemed to give him courage.

"Not personally, I'm quite sure." Although Blackheart had a lecherous look on his face all the same. "But actually, I'm rather surprised at you. You would think that you, of all people, would appreciate what I'm trying to do."

This caught his attention in spite of himself. Augusta saw it and said, "Don't listen."

But Marcos couldn't help himself. "What are you blathering about?"

Blackheart chuckled. "Come on, Marcos. You're a man, aren't you? How long have you known Augusta? Most of your life? And yet you've never been able to see past her, see anything about her except the prettiness of her face." Blackheart circled around them, taunting. "And Xanny – yes, she's sweet, isn't she? But more trouble than she's worth. A pretty shell, and a big problem. But what I want will make all those troublesome problems…disappear."

Marcos shook his head. "What are you—"

"You know, for a business wolf, I had expected you to be quicker," Blackheart droned. "Two beautiful women, beautiful for all eternity. And none of that bother about their needs, their wants, the little things about them like their insufferable personalities. You admit this has appealed to you. More times than you care to admit."

"I said don't listen to him," Augusta said. But the look on Marcos' face told her it was too late.

"Yes," Blackheart purred. "It's true, isn't it? You've thought it, in the dark corners of your mind, when frustration was more than you could handle. Why can't they just be beautiful, and keep their mouths shut? I guarantee the only time they'll open their mouths…is when they feed."

Marcos shook his head. "No," he said, fighting against it, feeling the cold of the crucifix burn against his skin. "No, I love her, I love Xanny, and I won't let you have her, not her and not Augusta either—"

Blackheart made a dismissive noise. "Don't pretend that you care about _her_, Marcos. She long ago proved that she was faithless to you. Whyever should you be faithful to her?"

Marcos looked at Augusta, who looked stricken. It was true – he'd known she was not loyal to him. She accepted his proposal of marriage merely as a business arrangement. She had been as cold to him as…as _he_ had been. Both to her, and then to Xanny.

"Because it isn't too late to do the right thing," Marcos whispered to Augusta. "It never is."

"Xanny loves you, too," Augusta said.

Marcos smiled. "Yeah, but that's just not enough, is it? You need more than just that. You need trust. You need acceptance. Alex hasn't rejected her like I did. _He_ wouldn't do that. He would _never_ do that to her."

Augusta shook her head. "Don't give up on her, Marcos. You came three thousand miles for her. That's going to mean something."

Marcos sighed, looking up at the ruined ceiling. "Yeah, definitely for something. Just what that is at the moment, I'm not quite sure."


	25. Intent

Disclaimer: Hey, guys, look! I'm making soup! Seth and El Ray are owned by Tarantino and Rodriguez. Sands is owned by Rodriguez. Blackheart is owned by Marvel Comics. Alex Tully is owned by Fox, although they don't seem to want him. I do own Xanny, Augusta and Marcos. And that's it.

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Twenty-Five: Intent

"Come out," Father Mateo said, gesturing. He motioned at the sky. "They won't come this far. Not yet."

Seth and Alex were hesitant, but Xanny was out of the car quickly, and she kept looking at the Titty Twister – granted, it was hard _not_ to look at it – with a sort of longing that made Alex want to put her in a headlock again.

"So now there are two inside," Father Mateo said, assessing the situation.

"Where is Brother Malachi?" Xanny asked.

"He's close by," Father Mateo said. "He's moving from the foundation up. If we do not destroy these creatures at their root, they will just sprout up again."

"I thought Blackheart was the root," Alex said.

Father Mateo nodded. "When the moment is right, he will act. We must give time for the fire to burn." He looked at Xanny. "I am sorry about your friend."

"He's not lost," she said. "I put that crucifix on him that you gave me."

"Yes, but he is not prepared for Blackheart. Demons know our weaknesses, Alexandra. The only good you can do for Marcos is to pray for him."

"Pray?" Alex burst out, coming forward and stepping between Xanny and the priest. Obviously, he had reached his breaking point. "_Pray?_ _That's the best you can give us right now?_ We're under attack –"

"If I recall rightly, it was _you_ who did the attacking," Father Mateo corrected smoothly, not ruffling a feather, and certainly not intimidated by Alex, who was a half-head taller than him and much wider in the shoulder, trying to stare him down.

"—and you haven't done anything but give us mountains of words that haven't done us any good!" Alex's voice was going higher, and even Seth was arching an eyebrow.

"Back down, man," Seth said, seeing Xanny's face going pale.

"If it was up to you we'd be sitting on our hands back in your run down little church!" Alex finished in a roar.

"Yes," Father Mateo said evenly. "And none of you would be lost inside the Titty Twister at this moment."

Alex stared at him. The touché was hard to counter. "At least we're _doing something_," he said.

"And you think I am not?" Father Mateo said. "The affairs of Hell cannot be disrupted by physical force. In situations like this, the war must be fought on a higher—"

Alex cut him off with a swiping of his arm through the air, a disgusted gesture that showed he wanted nothing else. He turned, storming around to the driver's side of his car again, and getting behind the wheel. He slammed the door shut, and the engine suddenly roared to life.

Xanny shot around the car and started to pound on the glass of the driver's side window. "What are you doing? Alex, don't be stupid, this is exactly what Blackheart wants!"

Alex cracked the window. "You said it was intention, too, right?" he said to her, a strange gleaming in his eyes. "Well, I don't _intend_ to go inside the Titty Twister. I probably couldn't ram it all the way through anyway." He gunned the engine, sending sand squealing up into the air, making everyone back off from the car. Xanny threw up her hand to shield her eyes, and almost didn't hear the rest of his words. "I'll get him back, Xanny – I promise!"

The car didn't surge forward – it went backwards, and Alex turned around and headed for the more tightly compacted dirt of the road that led to the Titty Twister's doors. Seth, Xanny, and the priest could only watch as he got a good distance back, and then charged forward.

It was a Dodge Charger – a good racing car, but not much in the way of strength when it came to ramming things. Alex was going to destroy his car – Xanny realized this as he gained more and more speed, sending huge clouds of dirt streaming into his wake. He was a racer, and he was going to destroy the most precious thing a racer could own – his car – to get Marcos back. And the only reason he could possibly be doing this was for _her_ – he'd even said as much. He was going to get back her Marcos, because she _loved_ him.

And the only reason a man would do that for a woman was if _he_ loved _her_.

She didn't know whether to laugh, scream or cry.

The car streaked like a dark-colored dart against the pale brown sand, and then it seemed to take off a few feet into the air. It sailed in a low arch, just high enough to aim the bumpers right at the middle of the door – and then Alex flew out of the car, rolling and hitting the ground in a painful-looking thump. One of the laws of physics kept him propelled toward the Titty Twister, so as the car smashed heavily into the doors – it was still two tons of steel, after all – he rolled almost into the small cluster of steps that led up to the entrance.

Xanny was running, even as the car hit, and bounced back. Seth was shouting her name, but she didn't care – Alex wasn't getting up, not yet, not fast enough. He had something in his hand and it was catching the light from one of the displaced headlights – the katana sword.

As soon as she reached him, he had her around the waist and was pulling her down, underneath him. One of the monsters from the roof had swooped down, ready to grasp her now that she was within reach, and Alex swiped the sword up, earning an angry cry from the beast as its leg was detached.

Xanny hit the ground underneath Alex on her back, and the wind was knocked from her. She tried to pull in air, but it was thick and stale around the Titty Twister, and it made her wretch. Alex had straddled her with his knees and was still beating back the creatures that were diving for her, going left and right. He didn't stand much of a chance.

And then, one of the creatures came down, saw something that was just out of her vision, shrieked in terror, and few away. Something arched after it, a line of water that glinted and sparkled in some light source that Xanny couldn't see – a spray of it caught the vampire on the wing and it went down, bursting into flame. It wasn't like the fire from the flame throwers – it was like the spark of a firecracker. The vampire more dissolved than exploded, and its ashes lay on the ground, where a dark foot came forward and scattered them to the wind, never to reform.

Alex saw and moved off her, just enough for her to get her head twisted around –

Father Mateo was there, holding a bottle of water in one hand, plastic and looking like it was capable of squirting a good distance. Seth was just behind the priest, carrying one of the crossbows. He was looking at the Titty Twister's doors.

"Not bad," Seth said.

Xanny managed to get into a sitting position, and both she and Alex saw the damage Alex's car had caused. The door was pushed open, the front corner of the Dodge Charger wedged into it. Alex moved to get up and Xanny instantly knew what he was going to do.

"We can't go in!" she shouted at him, adrenaline passing her from relief that he was alive to pure raging anger that he'd put himself in such foolish danger.

Seth looked like he wanted to jump out of his skin, and he stared at the door with wide, flashing eyes.

And then a head of white hair appeared in the opening. "Hi guys," Augusta said, cheerfully.

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"What a strange world you mortals live in," Blackheart was musing in his low, cold voice. It was like an arctic breeze across their ears, and Augusta felt that familiar pull again at her soul, that urge toward her baser instincts that she was trying even harder to fight. It was like walking up a very steep hill – utterly exhausting.

Marcos, however, had not been subjected to it. The pure seduction of that tone was enough to make him listen, and Augusta wanted to clap her hands over his ears. She knew it wouldn't work.

"Have you ever asked yourself," Blackheart said, addressing Marcos even as he seemed to float in a circle around them, "what your true love is?"

"Xanny," Marcos muttered.

Blackheart shook his head. "Try again."

Marcos tried to utter the name again. He tried…but he couldn't. Because Blackheart's voice seemed to be reaching inside his brain, and he could see things, things he knew were there, things he tried not to look at…

"Its all you've ever known how to do," Blackheart reminded him, and Marcos felt sick, thinking that this monster could somehow know about that very intimate and utterly humiliating conversation he'd had with Xanny mere hours ago.

"It's what I'm good at," Marcos said.

Augusta wanted to tell him not to argue, to just let it go, but also knew that wouldn't do any good.

"And Money is such a willing mistress," Blackheart said. "It brings so many things with it. Power, influence. Happiness. And don't give me the old cliché that money cannot buy happiness. You know the only time in your life you've ever been happy is when you see those zeroes pile up."

Marcos looked at Blackheart as if he'd struck him.

"You aren't alone," Blackheart said in that strange, comforting tone. "So many in the world worship at that altar. But death comes for us all, cutting us off from what we love most."

"You can't take it with you," Marcos whispered bitterly.

"It's a lie, Marcos," Augusta said, pushing past the buzzing in her head to speak. "It's a flaw, I have it too – the want for luxury, for everything to be easy. Nothing is ever enough, there's always something more. It's a weakness, not a love. You can't really love something that can never love you back."

Blackheart chuckled. It vibrated through the floor. "There's the lie, Marcos. Money can't run away from you. It can't abandon you for someone else. You can keep it under lock and key, keep it so close to you that you never have to worry about it straying. Wouldn't that be nice? To love something that cannot break your heart?"

A sound escaped from Marcos' throat. It was something like a whimper.

"This place," Blackheart said in a business-like tone, "could use you. It's run down, it's dilapidated. But you could build it up. The people flock here – they come by the droves. They bring their money, and they never leave. And yet more come, and more. It draws them, pulling them in, and they can't resist. How many more will come if you take control?"

"It needs a lot of work," Marcos said.

"It does," Blackheart replied. "But it will have everything. Everything you could ever imagine, and it will reap a harvest greater than anything you could imagine. And you would be forever young, forever able to reap that harvest, bathe in its benefits. And two beautiful women, the two most beautiful women in the world, will be here, always here, never to stray." Blackheart paused. "All you need to do is say yes. That's all."

Marcos looked to Augusta. She looked stricken. "Did he mention," she said, her voice very soft, "that to enjoy all of that – you'd have to be dead?"

"A mere formality," Blackheart said, but the words had already made Marcos frown.

"Dead?" he said.

She pointed up, toward the monsters in the rafters. "One of them. They were all probably like you, once. Human, at least. Handsome or beautiful, doesn't matter. And each one of them made a deal with this demon, and now look at them. Does that seem like the kind of business deal you want to make, Marcos?"

He looked up at the ceiling, repulsed. Blackheart glared at Augusta, but now she was smiling.

"It's like a magician's trick," she said. "Once you know how it works, it doesn't do anything for you anymore."

"Fine," Blackheart said dismissively. "Go back to your life, Marcos Ferarre. Xanny will leave you. You will grow old alone. You will serve your mistress anyway, and when your time comes, you will die, and you will lose everything. None if it will mean _anything_."

And as if to punctuate the point, there was a sudden heavy ramming right against the door, and the thick wood cracked like a lightning bolt. Marcos and Augusta leapt to their feet, and a headlight as bright as sunbeam shone into the interior of the bar.

It was a car. It had cracked open the front of the Titty Twister. And as if this sort of thing happened every day, Augusta walked right over to it, and looked out.

Xanny, Alex, Seth, and Father Mateo were on the other side. It looked as if they had just fended off some of the lesser vampire creatures. She felt a giddy sense of relief, and smiled at them. "Hi guys!" she called.

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Seth shot forward upon seeing Augusta, unable to stop himself. Xanny called his name, but it was as useless as when he'd called hers. Fortunately, he had his wits about him not to cross the threshold. Instead, he scrambled up onto the hood of the ruined car and extended his hand.

"Augusta," he said, "come out!"

She seemed to look behind her. Seth saw Marcos standing not ten feet away, looking at…

That was Blackheart? Seth realized he hadn't laid eyes on the personage yet. He looked so young, almost as young as Kate. And very Goth, with his dark hair, pale skin, and old-fashioned clothes.

Xanny was beside him, kneeling on the hood of the car, looking in through the crack. "Marcos!" she shouted upon seeing him. "Marcos, come on!"

But Marcos wasn't moving. Blackheart seemed to have hypnotized him, frozen him in place.

"Marcos!" Xanny roared even louder. He seemed to twitch, and then slowly, he turned his head.

Seth felt more than heard Xanny gasp. Marcos was staring at her with an empty, forlorn look. Seth knew that look. It was of such complete despair, such loss, that he felt for the man.

Then he turned his eyes to Augusta. He reached for her again, but didn't want put his hand through the maw the car had made in the entrance. Somehow he knew—

Xanny crawled forward. She was too close, and Seth grabbed her, pulling her back. "Don't go in there!" he barked at her.

"Look at Marcos!" Xanny whined. "Why isn't he moving? Gus, can't you get him!"

"No, Gus!" Seth called, as Augusta moved to do as her sister asked. "No, come out!"

Xanny looked up at Seth, outraged. She balled her hands into fists. "Don't you ever think about anyone other than yourself?" she screeched.

"Maybe if _you_ thought of your _sister_ for a _single second_—" Seth started to return, and then felt something grab him by the back of his coat and yank him off the car. Something else had grabbed Xanny, and she fell, too. It was Alex – he had taken advantage of their precarious balance, and dragged both of them back before they went in.

"Don't you two ever listen?" he chastised them. "Don't go into the Titty Twister."

There was a flash of black, and all three looked up to see that now Father Mateo was on the hood, the plastic water bottle in his hand. He turned to them and smiled, and then squirted the water onto the surface of the door.

A strange thing happened. It seemed that the doors began to melt. They dripped and oozed, but as the matter they had become hit the ground, it disappeared. In a few seconds, the doors were completely gone, and the scene inside the Titty Twister was very clear to see.

Blackheart, having observed this, turned and saw the priest, who was climbing down from the hood of the car to stand right at the threshold of the entrance. And it seemed as if the sky above them turned even blacker than before.


	26. Sacrifice

Disclaimer: Hey, guys, look! I'm making soup! Seth and El Ray are owned by Tarantino and Rodriguez. Sands is owned by Rodriguez. Blackheart is owned by Marvel Comics. Alex Tully is owned by Fox, although they don't seem to want him. I do own Xanny, Augusta and Marcos. And that's it.

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Twenty-Six: Sacrifice

Marcos stood there, and it seemed as if his brain had been locked up, like an old rusty engine. Xanny started to step forward again, but Alex grasped her arm. She was two seconds away from punching him, but his words were true.

_Don't go into the Titty Twister._

Father Mateo was standing at the threshold, however, and all their eyes were drawn to him, wondering what he was going to do. For a moment, all that happened was that Fr. Mateo and Blackheart stared at each other, impassive. And then, casually, as if it were a bottle of lighter fluid, the priest tipped the plastic water bottle of blessed water and squirted it into an arc across his feet.

Blackheart gave an almost imperceptible little jump, but it was there. The priest started said in Latin, "In nomine Patri, et Filio, et Spiritu Sancto."

"He's blessing it," Xanny muttered, understanding penetrating in spite of herself. It seemed to make the cross smeared on her forehead pulse with a life of its own. "He's blessing the Titty Twister."

She stepped forward, this time shaking Alex off with the words, "No, it's all right. You just have to step only where he's blessed it." Another quirt, a pool of water, more signs of the cross. It seemed at first as if he were making a path, but it didn't lead anywhere – just spread wider and wider with each step, taking up more and more room.

Blackheart hadn't moved yet. Xanny got the impression that there wasn't anything the demon could do. Just stare at the priest, seethe in hatred, whatever it was demons did when confronted with a holy man.

"Augusta," Seth called, this time desperate. He had tentatively moved forward to get closer to her, and it seemed that she, too, had fallen into some kind of trance. Xanny realized a minute later that she, too, was staring at Marcos, worried.

"I've got him," Xanny told her sister. "Go on, go."

Augusta, heaving with relief, dashed toward Seth and threw herself into his arms.

Another stream of water, and this time it was followed by a very loud hissing sound. The collective turned their heads to see that a large hole was melting in the wall. Furniture that lay in bits and pieces about was smoking as it became only ruins. It seemed that Father Mateo's bottle was not going to run out.

The priest made a sharp turn to the right, and his path was coming straight toward Blackheart. This seemed to motivate the demon. He pulled back, heading for the stage, walking backwards and not bothering to look behind him, but he didn't really need to. However, it came to him as an extremely unpleasant jolt when a man was on the stage before him, holding a crucifix in one hand and something else in the other, something no one recognized. A small gold container, and it almost seemed to glow.

Xanny made her way to Marcos. She saw that the pooled path ended behind him – after a moment's hesitation, she stepped off, gingerly, and got in front of him. His expression was glazed, a man staring too long into the sun. She reached for his arm, bare and muscled as it was, mostly for show – he'd rarely been in anything rougher than a pre-arranged boxing match.

"Marcos," she said, tugging at him. "Marcos, please, wake up."

Marcos made a grunting noise, way in the back of his throat.

"Whatever Blackheart told you, it's not true," she said, using her most gentle voice. She reached up, cupped his cheek. The feel of his three-day beard against her palm would have been reassuring if he'd been able to feel it, too. She gave him another little shake. "Come on, please come back to me."

Slowly, his head turned as he looked at her. It seemed that he was looking _through_ her. "Tell me, Xanny," he said in an incredibly low voice, "what were you and Alex doing, when you left the church last night?"

Xanny caught her breath, and a sudden memory of kissing Alex, the powerful feeling of his arms, his body against her, came rushing at her. Her hesitation was answer enough.

"That's what I thought," he said. And he pushed her away.

Xanny felt his hand go up and press against her shoulder, felt him start to shove, but she reached up and grasped his wrist with both her hands, latching on tightly. "No way, buddy," she said. "You didn't come all the way down here just to give up, did you?" She tugged, much harder this time. "Come back, dammit! You've never let anyone swindle you in your life, you going to let some petty demon pull one on you?"

"None of it means anything," Marcos said, and his voice sounded hollow, almost echo-y, the way Blackheart's did.

And then something behind Xanny burst into flames.

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It was the stage.

The candle Xanny had dropped before, at Father Mateo's instruction, had grown into a great heaping flame, consuming everything under it. And it had taken hold of the back wall of the Titty Twister. It lit up the dark, short figure of Brother Malachi in a yellow and orange backlight. Blackheart, for all his sneering and jeering, was shoved forward by the force, wincing away, throwing up his hand as if to protect himself.

"Cunning as serpents," Brother Malachi said. "Guileless as sheep."

Blackheart looked at the monk, and then back at the priest. And there was fear in his face, inhuman as it was. He snarled, and seemed to transform in front of them, trying to terrify them with his dark, streaking shape, distorting his face and showing them long, horrible teeth.

The others backed up, except for Fr. Mateo and Brother Malachi. They did not seem particularly disturbed by Blackheart's show of violence.

"You think you can stop me?" he ridiculed them. "You think you can scare me? I am _fear_, I am _evil_. Your kind will pass away long before one hair on my head turns gray."

Brother Malachi laughed at him. "I shall make no claim to know you, demon. But your lies are empty now, only to give yourself courage which you know you don't have. Your whole existence is fear, and pain, and despair. You have tried to sow those seeds here, but you shall not reap the harvest. Your reward for your efforts will only be bitterness. In the name of Christ, go back to Hell." He calmly removed a small book from his pocket, very similar to Father Mateo's, and he began reading from it. It was a series of prayers, but none present could understand them, although the message in them, the power that vibrated from them, was very real – he was dismissing Blackheart from this plane of existence. He was sending him back to hell.

Blackheart felt it. He struggled, he squirmed, but he was pinned down and there was nowhere to go. He looked around, panic appearing on his features, the blue veins that framed his inhuman white face seemed to rise and dance in his fear.

There was no mercy or compassion for the demon in Brother Malachi's face, and even Father Mateo started to take up the chanting. More and more around them, the Titty Twister racked and strained, the parts dissolving, falling, burning. Blackheart roared – it would have been terrifying before, seeing his real face appear underneath that beautiful mask he wore, but now, it was just pathetic.

"We have to get out of here," Augusta said, the sight of the demon trapped between the priest and the monk filling her with a strange kind of urgency. "Can't we grab Marcos or something?"

"I've got it," Alex said, and he charged over to where Xanny had hold of Marcos' wrist, and was pulling him toward the blessed parts of the Titty Twister. Father Mateo had been even busier. Most of the walls looked like Swiss cheese, matching the roof perfectly. The vampires overhead shrieked in anger, but were unable to do anything.

"Come on!" Alex shouted. "We have to go!" He reached between Xanny and Marcos and got hold of Marcos' arm, but it seemed that Alex's mere touch made Marcos snap. Suddenly, without explanation, Marcos balled up his other fist, and slammed Alex right across the jaw.

The impact broke Xanny loose and also sent Alex into the bar along the far wall. Glasses that had been sitting there flew in every direction and shattered. Alex stood, wobbling a bit, shaking his head and then rubbing his jaw.

Marcos did not wait for retaliation. He stepped over, swung, and hit Alex again, this time right in the nose.

Whatever slack Alex had been willing to cut the entranced Marcos was out the window – if there were any windows to be had in the Titty Twister. He glared at the other man, and swung back, catching Marcos in a nasty uppercut and sending him reeling backwards.

Problem was, he reeled right into Xanny, who caught him and barely kept him from falling down.

"STOP IT!" she yelled, but it was deaf ears now. Marcos pulled himself away from her and body slammed Alex, who was coming at him, fists ready.

Something was really wrong with Marcos. He took punches like he didn't even feel them, although Alex gave him several, all in succession – which was understandable, because when they landed on the ground, Marcos landed on top, and had his hands around Alex's throat. Alex was staring to lose consciousness, his eyes rolling upwards and his lips swelling, along with his tongue. Xanny seized Marcos' shoulders, trying to haul him off. To make matters worse, the screaming, fluttering vampires had been causing so much commotion over head that the rafts from the ceiling were starting to crash down.

"STOP STOP STOP!!" Xanny didn't think her voice could get a loud as it became, even as she strained with all her might. Finally, a clip to the jaw knocked Marcos' head back, and he peeled away from Alex, falling backwards and pinning Xanny under him on the floor.

Augusta watched in horror, and then something seemed to sear into her leg, and she reached down, expecting to find something awful there, trying to attack her. Instead, she saw the bulge in her pocket, reached in, and felt the plastic bottle.

She let go of Seth, which wasn't easy because he was gripping her tightly. She ran forward, ignoring his protests, and flipping the bottle open as she went, she aimed it right at Marcos, as if it were a weapon.

Marcos looked straight at her.

She pushed hard on the sides of the bottle and the stream caught him full in the face. He yelped, toppling back, off of Xanny. Not wasting a second, Augusta reached down and grabbed Xanny under one shoulder and hauled with all her might.

"NO!" Xanny wept, almost fighting Augusta, even as she rescued her. "We can't leave him!"

Marcos had fallen back against the ruined bar, his head down. His sopping hair was covering his face as it hung down around hunched shoulders. And then, unexpectedly, Marcos' face lifted up, and he pushed the hair away, and underneath were a pair of wide, clear eyes.

"Xanny, come on!" Augusta cried, and now Seth was in on the act, realizing the only way to get Augusta out was to get Xanny out, too. But Xanny wouldn't go, screaming first for Marcos, and then realizing that Alex was slouching beside him, trying to revive himself, and she was calling for him, too, calling for him louder with each second, her sobs wracking her body so hard it was difficult for Seth and Augusta to keep their grip on her.

Marcos came to first. He looked around, saw what was happening, and saw Alex beside him. He reached over, got one arm under Alex's arm, and supporting a good amount of his weight, started to pull him away from the dissolving wreckage the Titty Twister was becoming.

"Look, they're coming!" Augusta shouted into Xanny's ear, as the woman had gone into near hysterics now. It was so very strange, Augusta couldn't help recalling the moment with the utmost surrealism later – Xanny, who had always been the more rational and level-headed of the twins, carrying on hysterically and Augusta, being much more flighty by nature, the one in complete control of herself. "They're coming, Xanny! Marcos is coming and he's got Alex!"

Xanny seemed to hear her, somehow, and Seth at this point was completely fed up. He grabbed Xanny and lifted her up, throwing her in a fireman's hold over his shoulder. She tried to struggle, but it was no use.

Blackheart was twisting and screaming in full agony now. He thrashed this way and that, and his thrashing seemed to be bringing the Titty Twister down on their heads with even more expedience. "I shall avenge myself on you, both!" he howled.

"Your threats are empty," Father Mateo said. "Brother?"

"With pleasure," Brother Malachi said, and he stepped forward. He reached and grasped the back of Blackheart's coat, which was more like the scruff of the back of a dog's head now, and seemed to lift him up into the air. Blackheart glared at him, that face permanently broken, the teeth ruined, the eyes blazing, but he could not stop the little monk from tossing him through the air so that he landed in the midst of the flames made by that little candle Xanny had tossed into the gorge.

The scream when Blackheart went almost shattered their eardrums. A black cloud seemed to explode from where he had been, and it had tendrils – the last ditch effort to revenge himself on them. The foundations of the Titty Twister trembled beneath them like an earthquake. The burning rafters were falling everywhere, and it seemed as if things were exploding – the leftover glasses, the liquor bottles, anything that wasn't bolted to the floor, and even those things seemed to shift and break.

"We must go," Brother Malachi said, coming down from the stage. Seth and Augusta had Xanny past the doorway now, but Xanny couldn't stop looking back. The priest approached Marcos and Alex, urging them forward, showing the first sign of nervousness since he'd entered the place.

It happened when they were a matter of feet from the door.

The roof caved. Not just fell in, but toppled in on itself, like some living thing imploding, curling downward and heaving every single solid piece of matter within its reach inward, almost in a sucking motion. The big sign, the horrible neon sign that had lured so many to their damnation and death, was coming down, like a missile, and it was bringing the rest of the roof with it. Marcos saw it happen a split second before the other two. Alex had just come to, recovering from his near suffocation, and didn't react fast enough. But Marcos pushed Alex down under him, and reached over Alex's back to grasp at the priest, and he shielded both their bodies with his own as some flaming beam with an edge like a spear hurtled down through the middle of the debris.

Xanny watched it happen as if it were in slow motion.

The motion of Marcos pushing them got Alex and the priest through the door just in time, but the beam pinned Marcos to the ground. Everything else flowed over him, a wave of chaos, and the force of it shoved Alex and Father Mateo to their knees. There was no way Marcos was going to live through that -- nobody got buried under a collapsing building and lived.

She screamed.


	27. Death

Disclaimer: Hey, guys, look

Disclaimer: Hey, guys, look! I'm making soup! Seth and El Ray are owned by Tarantino and Rodriguez. Sands is owned by Rodriguez. Blackheart is owned by Marvel Comics. Alex Tully is owned by Fox, although they don't seem to want him. I do own Xanny, Augusta and Marcos. And that's it.

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Twenty-Seven: Death

Seth and Augusta could not hold Xanny any longer. She broke free and ran back, but it was too late. Marcos was buried under a pile, and it was still smoldering, the flames still sparking high into the air. She fell on her knees to avoid the blast of heat and smoke, and reached down, almost through the sand, trying to get under the slats of wood.

Marcos' hand was stretched out, the only part of him that made it over the finish line. Xanny grasped it and stared to pull, and soon Alex was beside her, reaching into the flames, even as the others screamed at them to stop. Both of them together pushed back enough debris to free Marco's head and shoulders, and together they hauled him out.

Seth shoved Xanny aside, being the stronger of the two, and grabbed up Marcos' limp body with Alex and finished the half-distance between the wreckage and the car.

It was just in time. The very ground seemed to split around the foundations of the Titty Twister. It was breaking off to fall into the gorge, back to the hell from whence it came. They watched it happen with a sort of dazed, incredulous look – the sliding of the land, the avalanche of the ruins, and the almost inhuman scream that echoed in the crashing and quaking. And it happened faster than anything else so far. And when it was done, leaving nothing behind by empty air and scorched earth, they stared, numb and limp, and tried to make themselves believe that what had just happened, just happened.

Xanny looked down at Marcos. A line of blood trailed out – no, it was more than a like, it was a wake – back to where the Titty Twister had just sat mere minutes ago. And it was pooling under him, quickly.

He moaned. His face was burned – a thick black bubbling of blisters spread up his neck and across the left side of his face, and his hair was singed, still glowing read in some places. His left arm was destroyed, ripped and torn in both ligaments and muscle, his leg bent at a horrible, painful-to-look-at angle. And in spite of that, he was struggling to turn over onto his back.

They helped him – Xanny, mostly, cradling him on her lap as delicately as she could. She did not see the burns, the ruins of this man she had loved. She only saw that he was dying.

"Marcos?" she whispered. His eyes blinked open – they were still unharmed – he had more than likely closed them hard when the impact had come, therefore preserving them, but they were bloodshot and tired. Still, they saw her, and they sparked, and she could see, as she had seen before, that he did love her.

"Ev…everyone…safe?" he rasped. Smoke had no doubt filled his lungs, but he was too weak to even cough it out.

"Don't try and talk," Xanny said. "We have to get you help." She looked up at the others, saw that they had gathered around, that they were gazing stupidly at her and at Marcos, and felt a rush of anger. "Well, do something! Can't we…I mean, isn't there…"

It was Seth's eyes that she met. Seth, who knew death intimately, who knew what it looked like, before, during and after. And he was looking at her with such pain, as if he ached as much as Marcos did in her arms. Then, gently, he shook his head.

She almost couldn't breathe, the tears came so fast, so very, very fast. But she bit them back – it couldn't be, Marcos was stronger than this, and she had money, God, she had so much money, she could buy anything, surely she could buy this man out of his own death!

"Xan…" Marcos whispered tremulously. "Xanny."

She looked down at him, willing her vision not to swim.

"S…'s…okay." He smiled at her.

She shook her head, curling her arms around him, pulling him as close to her chest as she could. He did not wince in pain, although it had to be uncomfortable – perhaps he was too far gone to care. "It's not," she whispered tenderly. "No, it's not."

"You…alive. Ev'ry..one. 'Live. Monster…gone. S'good."

Only then did she realize that Father Mateo was kneeling beside them, and that he was praying, softly, making a small sign of the cross with two fingers of one hand. She felt the savage urge to slap him away, but knew, knew deep in her heart of hearts, that it was a blessing, in some deep spiritual way that she could not understand at the moment, but would comfort her in years to come, that Father Mateo was even there.

The priest was talking to Marcos, in very low tones, and Marcos was talking back, in short, breathy gasps, using the last of his strength. She did not listen to what they were saying – it seemed her ears were filled with a strange buzzing, and all she could do was hold him, as tears rolled down her cheeks and soaked her shirt, and snot ran from her nose unchecked. She was vaguely aware of Augusta beside her, her sister's arm around her shoulder, dabbing at her with a Kleenex, and Gus, too, was crying, although she was not having such an easy time holding it back. The only sound from Gus was the choking sound of sobs.

Xanny held Marcos as he died, stroking his hair, kissing his forehead, his cheeks – both the ruined one and the good one – and whispering that she loved him, she would always love him. And she knew that later, much later, she would be angry that he had ever come there, that she had ever left him, and she would be so angry she didn't know if she could live with it. But she pushed it aside – she had to be here, in these moments, the last she would ever have with him.

How long it took, she did not know. Later, one of the others, probably Alex, would tell her how long it had taken Marcos to die. It didn't matter. He told her he loved her, and his last breath slipped out of him as easily as any breath he had ever exhaled in his life. The only difference was, he didn't take another. He never took another breath again.

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Xanny was inconsolable.

As much as she had screamed and carried on while the whole battle was happening, she was serene and calm for the drive back. But she did not let go of Marcos. She did not let him out of her sight. She wept silently, her tears running like a faucet with no way to turn it off. She rode in the back of Father Mateo's station wagon, and she helped, as much as she could, with arranging the body.

At this point, Augusta took over. She found Xanny's cellular phone in her motorcycle pack and started to make phone calls. It seemed within hours that a helicopter arrived, ready to take the body away. Xanny did not think about the fact that the helicopter was more than likely in the country illegally, and that it would have done a hell of a lot more good earlier that day, but she was too deadened inside from the agony to care beyond the fact that they were taking Marcos to where she wouldn't be able to see him anymore.

"We can go with them," Augusta said, as the copter landed and a few men in rather expensive suits came to take the body. Xanny vaguely recognized them as men who worked for Marcos, and they worked very quickly, getting Marcos zipped up into a black bag and onto the helicopter. Then they seemed to hesitate, looking to the twins for either a signal to wait or go.

Xanny stood outside, looking at the place on the cargo plane of the helicopter where Marcos was laid, looking like any other body in a bag. It seemed to hit her then, rocket to her chest like a heart attack, and she made a low, guttural noise like a wounded animal, and sunk to her knees.

Augusta stood there, watching her sister go through the throes of anguish and being unable to do anything about it. Then, seeing that Xanny either could not or would not move, she reluctantly nodded at the helicopter pilot, and it took Marcos away, up into the air.

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Augusta found Xanny that night, sitting outside the church in the small garden just beside the hut that Father Mateo lived in. She had not spoken to anyone that day. Everyone had kept asking her what they could do – even Sands, who had shown up on the scene, initially unnoticed and with a now-useless chainsaw, a short time just before Marcos had died. Wisely, Seth had grabbed the man and told him to "keep your fucking mouth shut, just do it," and Sands, not being an idiot, obviously saw that an ill-timed remark would earn him a very painful beating, not from one source, but possibly two, from the way Alex seemed to glare at him as well.

She had no answer for any of them. No one had ever been able to do anything to help her, _really_ help her, when her parents had died – her and Xanny's parents, although Xanny had never known them – and that was possibly when it had started for her. The distance, the search for adrenaline, for walking on what she mistakenly thought was the "wild side." All it really was, was a way to live your life as stupidly and meaninglessly as possible. She knew that now.

Xanny, however, was borderline catatonic, and there seeming nothing else to do than just let her ride it out. Still, Augusta knew that wasn't possibly the best thing, either. Xanny couldn't sit there and lit it all fester inside her like a wound. She had lived a criminal life before, and who was to say this kind of tragedy wasn't going to push her back into that?

Xanny was on one of the few lonely benches in the garden, and she was not crying this time, but staring up at the sky. Augusta came over and sat down beside her, gently and with a certain amount of hesitation, and waited for a few minutes. The last thing she wanted to be was a nuisance. But she also wanted to hear her sister say something, _anything_. Anything at all.

Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed, and finally Augusta knew she had to do something. She thought of what to say. Everything sounded bad. Everything sounded hollow and trite. Cliché, which was even worse. Xanny didn't want that, she didn't need that.

Then it came to her. She reached out, and gently lifted up Xanny's hand, putting it in hers, and giving it a squeeze. "Xan," Augusta said, making sure her voice was loud enough to be heard, but soft enough not to startle, "say something. Just say anything. Tell me whatever's going through your mind, right now."

A minute passed. Augusta counted it out, waiting for Xanny to speak, and was just about to repeat the request, when finally Xanny's voice came from between parched lips. A voice hoarse from crying.

"I feel guilty."

"Why?" Augusta asked after a pause, when she didn't offer anything more. "It's not your fault."

Xanny shook her head, very slightly. "Not that. Marcos did a good thing. He saved Alex and the priest. If he hadn't pushed them out…they all would have died."

Good, she was being rational, Augusta thought. She knew the stages of grief, had heard them from a psychologist or two in her time – denial, anger, bargaining, guilt, acceptance. Whatever order they came in, she wasn't sure. She didn't think there was an order. But obviously Xanny was somewhere in the guilt stage. "So why do you feel guilty?" she asked.

"Because…" And Xanny's lips crumpled as she struggled with a fresh bought of tears. She drew a heavy breath. The words wanted out, but she didn't want to say them. "I had made up my mind, Gus. I wasn't going to go back to him."

Augusta took in this news with a moderate amount of shock. Half this trip had been about Xanny getting over Marcos, or at least getting some distance. Secretly, Augusta had wanted Marcos to miss Xanny, to come begging for her to come home, and it had worked – just not the way she had originally envisioned. And she had pictured Marcos changing his ways, and he and Xanny having that whole happy ending thing.

Now, Augusta stared up into the sky, and she knew. It wasn't about change. People did change, slowly and over time, by modifying themselves to their circumstances, but ultimately, the core of a person did not ever change. And Marcos' core and Xanny's core, they were different, which was good. The world was made of yins and yangs. But ultimately, it was not a compatible difference.

Augusta felt a rush of guilt. She had known that Xanny and Marcos had made a connection while they had been trying to rescue her from her kidnapping, and she had encouraged that connection later on, when Xanny became a permanent part of their lives. But how much of that had been motivated by her own guilt of leaving Marcos, because she could no longer live the lie of the devoted fiancée? She was in love with Seth. And that meant that Marcos was out of the picture. But never fear, here was a woman with her face and a genuine return of feelings. Problem solved.

No, it wasn't fair. And then she thought about Seth. Was it going to be the same with him? Were the two of them going to wind up separated in the end? The thought gave her a terrible pang.

"Where are the boys?" Xanny asked suddenly, in a tone that was almost normal, conversational.

"They went into town," Augusta said. "I got tired of them bugging me, so I gave them a couple hundred dollars and told them to go get drunk."

Xanny let out a bark that was almost a laugh. "What were they bugging you about?"

"You," Gus replied. "They were worried about you."

Xanny looked down at her hand, clasped with Augusta's. "Sorry," she murmured. "Sorry I've been so…"

"Oh, don't even say that," Augusta chastised her soothingly. "Nobody's mad at you."

"No, I didn't mean to make everyone worry. I just…couldn't talk. I was thinking of so much, trying to figure things out in my head."

"I know, but you don't have to do it all _today._ You _won't_ do it all today. You might think you have, but you haven't."

Xanny sighed, and it mingled with a cool night breeze, fluttering some cactus flowers around them. "I did love him, you know."

"Of _course_ you did, baby," Augusta said, pulling her closer.

"I loved him so much I thought I'd…I thought I'd just die if I didn't go back to him. But it just…couldn't work."

"I know."

"Love isn't always enough."

"Trust me, I know."

"I mean, I don't want you to think I'm telling myself that I wouldn't have gone back to him just to make myself feel better. Or to feel worse, I don't know. I had to really think about it, and remember that I made this decision before we all went to the Titty Twister. Before he was…he was…" She couldn't even say the word "killed."

"I'm sure it was a hard decision to make, either way."

"You're not mad at me?" Xanny asked in a small, small voice.

Augusta pulled her hand from Xanny's and wrapped her arm around her sister's shoulders. "Never," she said. "Even if I am, I'm not. Not ever."


	28. Life

Disclaimer: Hey, guys, look

Disclaimer: Hey, guys, look! I'm making soup! Seth and El Ray are owned by Tarantino and Rodriguez. Sands is owned by Rodriguez. Blackheart is owned by Marvel Comics. Alex Tully is owned by Fox, although they don't seem to want him. I do own Xanny, Augusta and Marcos. And that's it.

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Twenty-Eight: Life

Seth and Alex were drunk.

Oddly, it felt almost like it had that first time in El Ray, when they had been sitting around together, figuring out what they were going to do about each other, and ending up deciding they were going to be partners.

Actually, scratch that, Seth thought. It wasn't like that at all. First of all, the mood was all wrong. It was dark, and miserable, and the alcohol was just enhancing it. Seth had gotten drunk when he was depressed several times in his life, and from Alex's mannerisms, so had he.

"Did you know him well?" Alex asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

Seth shook his head. "I don't know either him or Augusta well. I mean, not like you know someone you've been around for a long period of time. I know Xanny well, though, and I've never seen her like this before. I mean, never."

Alex nodded, and the dark cloud hanging over him seemed to swell. Seth felt really bad for the guy. It was the first time Seth could ever remember in his life feeling this awful for anyone other than himself, and it was doubled by the fact that he felt this way both for Alex _and_ Xanny. Of course, feeling bad for Xanny was easier, at least by half. Feeling bad for Alex was, for some reason, much, much worse.

Because it was obvious that somewhere along the line, Alex had fallen in love with Xanny. Fallen _hard_, landslide hard, the way he'd fallen for Augusta all those months ago. Because a man didn't risk his life for another man that he'd just met, unless it was for a damn good reason. And Alex had risked everything to save Marcos because Alex knew that Xanny loved Marcos. It was the most selfless thing Seth had ever seen in his life, and it made him feel small and worthless, sitting across from it.

But Marcos, the poor stupid bastard, had gone and died. And died in the process of saving Alex, which no doubt was sticking in Alex's craw like a piece of beef jerky going sideways down the windpipe. There was just no getting around an obstacle like that. No way at all.

So Alex was heartbroken, and guilty, and now he was drunk, and Seth sort of felt like it was his personal mission at this moment to keep an eye on him, make sure he didn't do anything too stupid.

"So what," Alex slurred a bit, finishing off a double shot of whiskey, "do we do now?"

Seth deliberated it for a minute. "Well, I know I'd like nothing more than to check into a decent hotel and sleep for two days. I feel like I've been running on empty since this whole mess stared. I swear I don't even know what day of the week it is." He looked at Alex, his head cocked thoughtfully. "Maybe you should do that, too. Let yourself sort of…unwind."

Alex snorted a rather disgusted laugh. "Yeah, maybe."

"No, more like definitely." Seth picked up the bottle of whiskey and poured what was left into Alex's glass. "Drink up, come on. The drunker you are the less you dream."

Alex didn't argue. He was already too drunk to argue. If he got drunk enough, Seth could get him to a hotel room, get him bedded down and out of the way long enough for Xanny to clear her head.

It took a while, and Seth was also not thrilled at the prospect of being seen carting a drunken man through town. He was able to get some transportation, and San Mateo, while respectable, was not a large place, so it wasn't far to a decent hotel, with clean sheets and hot and cold running water. He also got a room for himself, and as soon as he got Alex into his, he started to head down the hallway to his room, he ran into a familiar head of silver-white hair.

"Hey," Augusta greeted him, almost as if they were strangers. Seth just looked at her a moment, thrown off kilter.

"Hey," he said back, and then she smiled at him, and he felt like he wanted nothing else than to kiss her at that moment. "What are you…what are you doing here?" he asked, forcing the question through the impulse.

"I managed to talk Xanny into coming into town," Augusta said. "We couldn't sleep at the church. Another night on that lumpy old cot just wasn't going to happen. I got us rooms…what about you?"

"Same thing," Seth said. "But I got Alex pretty fucking drunk in the process."

"_You're_ not as drunk as I thought you'd be," Gus said, with a cocked eyebrow.

"Yeah, well, I was worried more about him. Like he'd do something stupid. Figured if he was unconscious I wouldn't have to worry about him."

"That's pretty drunk," Augusta agreed. "And kinky, in a highly disgusting way."

Seth rolled his eyes. "_Now_ who's drunk?"

"I don't know," Augusta sing-songed as she sauntered past him. "You two were alone in El Ray, who knows for how long?"

Seth snagged her around the waist as she went past, pulling her back to him. "All right, that's it. You told us to go get drunk, remember?"

"Yeah, but I never told you to get a hotel room."

"What were we supposed to do, sleep in the street?" He spun her around as he pulled her closer, looking down into her face.

"No, I guess not." She wrapped her arms around his waist, and then suddenly, in a shift of moon, pressed her cheek against his chest, letting out a heavy breath. "Seth…"

"I know, Gus," he sighed against her hair. "I know. I can't believe…I mean, is it over?"

"I think it is," Seth said. "For some of us, anyway.:"

"I know." Augusta propped her chin up on his chest and looked up at him. "I don't know what's going to happen now. It was almost easier…just dealing with Blackheart and those vampires." She scowled. "God, I don't think I'll ever get to sleep. Something in my head just keeps spinning around and around."

"Let's go get something to eat," Seth suggested. "I don't feel like sleeping, either."

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It was a quiet little cantina, not much to look at, but peaceful and clean, and they sat at a table together, picking through the menu, hungry but not knowing what to eat, not wanting to drink anymore, restless and exhausted in one glance.

"You really think Alex would do that?" Augusta said.

"I wouldn't put it past him," Seth said. "He's pretty wrecked right now. I think he…" It felt odd to say it. He had to push the words out. "I think he's in love with Xanny."

"Those are strong words," Augusta said after a pause. The waitress came over, breaking their conversation, and Augusta ordered them some odds and ends, munching food. When she left, Seth was looking at her with a sardonic expression. "What?"

"What the hell do you think happened to you and me?" he asked.

"Well, those were rather intense circumstances," Augusta said.

"And these weren't?"

She squirmed. "I'm sorry…I just…"

Seth stared at her for a moment, and then realized. "You were really pushing for Marcos, weren't you?"

She shook her head. "Not for the right reasons. I felt guilty, leaving him. I was trying to replace myself, I guess."

"Pretty hard to do." He had his hand on hers, across the table.

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Says the man who kidnapped me because he thought I was someone else."

"Well now I know better," Seth said. He paused. "Alex is a good guy, Gus. You talked to him. You saw what he did, at that…place." He never, ever wanted to speak the name of that horrid bar ever again. He wanted to go stand on top of the cliff where the gaping hole was left and laugh and scream at the ruins, do a victory dance, spit on the scorched earth until either he ran out of saliva or the ground was soaked through. The thought that the bar from hell was permanently destroyed gave him a heady sense of victory that was stronger and sweeter than any high he'd ever had in his life.

"Yes, I know," she said softly. "And…" There was extreme hesitation. She knew something, something she couldn't tell him. "Yes, you're right. He'd be good for Xanny, if he wasn't a criminal. That's not what Xanny needs."

Seth shrugged. The truth was, he realized, the two of them were dancing around the real issue. "So what about me?" he asked. "And you? Us? I'm still a criminal, Augusta. You came all the way out to El Ray to find me. You never got a chance to tell me why."

She looked at him, rather wide-eyed. "Isn't it obvious?" she asked.

He pulled her hand into his, pulled her closer, as close as the table between them would allow. "And what would we do, together?" he asked. "I mean, really? I can't go back to the States, you know that. What are you going to do, stay down here in Mexico with me for the rest of my life?"

Her eyes drifted away from him, looking down at the table, still wide, as this news penetrated through the layers of her mind. Then, her bottom lip started to tremble, slightly, and she sucked it in to stop it. "So that's it, then? It's over?"

Seth heard the words, "It's over," and his heartbeat started to patter against his chest, a caged rabbit struggling to get out. "I just…I just don't want you to do something you'll regret."

She let out a bitter laugh, and it lasted a bit too long to sound sane. "Seth," she managed, "the fact that I can even still think about it, after all the things I've done that I _do_ regret…do you really think I would regret _this_?" She paused, breathing hard for a moment. "Just tell me…do you _want_ to be with me? Or should I just have flown back to the States with Marcos?"

He pulled her arm closer to him, almost pulling her down against the table. "I want you here," he said. "I never said I didn't. I want to be with you. I need you, Augusta. I don't know when it happened, but it did. I just…I just don't think I could take it if you came here, and then decided to leave." _Like Xanny did to Marcos,_ he thought quietly. _Like Alex wants to do now_.

"I guess it would be different if Ritchie were still alive," she sighed. "I'm not his replacement, Seth."

"I know that," he said. "You're damn sexier, at any rate."

She snorted. "Hold your horses, boy," she said, pulling some of her arm back. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. The truth is, we don't know if we can even live with each other. Maybe you're right, maybe it won't work."

"I never said that," Seth objected.

"In a way, you did, and in a way, you didn't." The food started to arrive. Augusta suddenly felt ravenously hungry. She started to shove some quesadillas into her mouth. "We have to be careful with this, Seth, or we're _both_ going to get our hearts broken."

Seth groaned, his head in his hand. "Now I remember why I've stayed single for so long," he muttered. "Everything with women is so bloody complicated."

She flashed him a smile. "But we're worth it," she said. Then, hesitantly, she looked at Seth with almost a pleading in her eyes. "Aren't we, Seth? Aren't I?"

He looked back at her, and gave her a cock-eyed smile. "Yeah, you are. I just hope I am."

"I mean, living in Mexico is not a problem," she said, bouncing back at a remarkable speed. "Mexico City's not too bad…well, there's crime…don't want to put you too near temptation. There are a few big cities, that are friendly to rich Americans. Or else I can just hire some bodyguards. So I'm not worried about that. And money is not a problem, Seth, if that's why you were always robbing banks—"

"Not so loud," Seth grumbled at her. "Everyone will want one."

"You want one?" she said, shoving the plate of enchiladas at him.

"Actually, I'd love a damn cheeseburger," Seth said, but he tucked in anyway.

"We can get you cheeseburgers," Augusta went on. "I mean, the logistics of the whole thing are not a problem at all. I'm sure that even in a few years, and with a few phone calls to the right people, we might even be able to get you back into the states. Under a new identity of course. And only provided you never, ever again rob a bank, or anything else."

"I'll try to control myself," Seth said dryly.

"Probably shouldn't mention any of this to Father Mateo," Augusta frowned. "He won't approve. I mean, you guys did kill a bunch of Texas rangers."

"It was mostly Ritchie," Seth said. "But I won't say I didn't help a bit. But doesn't that whole, helping cast a demon back to hell thing count for anything?"

"Maybe with God, but not with the law," Augusta said. "No, we'll work around that later. Maybe you can do some charity work. Help underprivileged Mexican kids. Build some hospitals and orphanages."

"You mean _you_ can," Seth said. "You're the one with the money."

"I'll set you up on an allowance," Augusta said. She giggled. "You'll be a kept man."

Seth riled. She laughed harder at him, and then he realized she was teasing him. And he chuckled, too.

It wasn't the end of the conversation. Not by a very long shot. In fact, they talked for so long that Xanny found them there, a little after dawn, when the cantina opened for breakfast. Still talking.


	29. Goodbye

Disclaimer: Hey, guys, look

Disclaimer: Hey, guys, look! I'm making soup! Seth and El Ray are owned by Tarantino and Rodriguez. Sands is owned by Rodriguez. Blackheart is owned by Marvel Comics. Alex Tully is owned by Fox, although they don't seem to want him. I do own Xanny, Augusta and Marcos. And that's it.

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Twenty-Nine: Goodbye

It was a bit of a shock, seeing Seth and Augusta just sitting there, talking and eating as if nothing had happened. But it was refreshing, too. Augusta stood up when Xanny approached the table, hugged her, and even Seth smiled at her in a welcoming way as she sat down. They ordered breakfast – after paying for dinner, as the waitress insisted. Xanny ate, and ate a lot – eggs, bacon, freshly fried flour tortillas – and Seth and Augusta exchanged knowing looks when they thought she wasn't looking. It was good to see her eating, but she was still pale, and quiet, and neither knew what to expect from her.

"I want to go back to the church," Xanny told her sister. "I want to see Father Mateo once more before we leave. And Brother Malachi."

"Okay," Augusta said. "What about after that? It's not like we have to be anywhere. Where were you thinking about going?"

Xanny smiled, looking from her to Seth. "Well, I know where you two were thinking of going. Somewhere together, although I don't know exactly where. Somewhere in Mexico? Or were you thinking of hopping to another country without an extradition treaty with the U.S.?"

"We hadn't…gotten that far," Augusta said, and even Seth gave a little blush. "But Xanny, come on, I'm not just going to leave you. We're still family." She looked at Seth. "We all are. I mean, you two still have history, we're not just going to all walk away from each other."

Xanny gave a dry chuckle. "No, I'm not going to be a third wheel," she said. She rested her head in her hand, playing with the last of her eggs with the tip of her fork. "To be honest, I don't know where I want to go. Not home."

"There's Alex," Augusta said softly.

Suddenly Xanny scowled, letting go of her fork. It fell to the plate with a clatter. "What, now that Marcos is dead, I'm just supposed to ride off into the sunset with the next guy?" she asked, her voice starting to rise. Instantly, Augusta knew she'd said the wrong thing, and Seth gave her a shake of the head, but it was too late. "Oh, that's really sensitive, Augusta, I'm glad that you have so much respect for Marcos' memory—"

"That isn't what I mean!" Augusta cried, backpedaling, but Seth suddenly sat up straight, and clapped his hands, startling both of them into looking at him.

"You know what I think?" he said, his voice unusually loud, getting their real attention. "I think that Marcos deserves a wake."

"A wake?" Augusta echoed, confused.

"A wake!" He looked at Xanny. "A big, grand wake. All the stops. What, you can't arrange it? He had to have known hundreds of people—"

"None of whom liked me at all," Xanny said.

"Still, it doesn't matter," Seth insisted. "It's not about you. Not about any of us. It's about Marcos. Give him a grand party, remember the good things, let everyone else eat and drink in his honor." He slapped the table. "I think that's the best idea I've had in months."

Xanny cracked a very small smile. "And are you going to be on the guest list, Seth?"

He shrugged. "You two should be able to hide me for a few days. Put a wig on me, a whole disguise. As long as I stay mostly out of sight and only come out for the party – I mean, the guy was huge! I could easily get lost in the crowd. As long as it's just for a few days, it shouldn't be a big problem."

Augusta frowned. "Well, it's a plan."

Seth gave her a meaningful look. _It's something to do_, he thought at her.

"Yeah," Xanny said after a thoughtful pause. "Yeah, you're right. Say goodbye properly. Augusta, could you arrange it? You're still respectable. I'll just be on the guest list, an ex-girlfriend. Don't even mention my name."

"We'll have to get started fast on the guest list," Augusta said. "And the announcement that he's dead is going to hit the papers probably in a few hours, back in the States. We need to get moving."

Seth nodded. "We should go back to the hotel, get Alex. He knew Marcos too, we all went through this big ordeal together. It's only right to bring him with us."

Augusta smiled at Seth. As she caught his hand, as they were walking out, a few feet behind Xanny, she leaned in close and whispered, against the black tendrils of his dragon tattoo along his neck, "You're really brilliant sometimes, you know that?"

His only answer was to give her the famous, enigmatic, Seth Gecko grin.

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"I think that's a very good idea," Father Mateo said, when Xanny told him what they were going to do. They were walking in the small church garden, in the early morning sunshine. It was a descent day, starting to warm up, and the countryside was breathtakingly beautiful, when one was able to stop and admire it. "I would be honored to attend."

"We'll take care of all transportation," Xanny said. "Augusta went into town to take care of it. We just need to get to the closest town with an airport."

"I'm sure your sister is quite adept at that sort of thing," Father Mateo said with a grin. Then, he removed something from his pocket. It was the heavy crucifix that he had put on Xanny that first night, when Alex brought her here. She had put it around Marcos' neck, and removed it when they had prepared the body for the ride back to the U.S. "You should keep this."

Xanny felt jolted. "No, I don't think so, Father," she said quickly. "It's yours, you should keep it."

Father Mateo shook his head, taking her hand and putting the crucifix into it. "You should keep it in a safe place. It saved him, you know. If Blackheart had tried to possess him and he hadn't been wearing it, he wouldn't have come back to himself as quickly." They stopped walking and he turned to her, putting a fatherly hand on her shoulder. "You should know that he died well. Whatever flaws he may have had, he died a happy death."

She shook her head, hardly able to look up from the solid metal object in her hand. "I wish I could believe that." She choked back a few tears. "It was just so terrible."

"Yes, it was," Father Mateo agreed. "It was terrible, and beautiful. Hopefully, one day, you will understand."

She drew a breath, and put the crucifix in the pocket of her jacket. "Thank you," she said. "For being there for him. In the end."

Father Mateo nodded, and smiled at her. "If you ever need me, you'll know where to find me," he said, gesturing to the church.

"Thank you, again," Xanny said. "Where's Brother Malachi? I wanted to say goodbye to him, as well."

The priest shook his head, and sighed. "He's back at his hermitage. He only came to help with the situation. Normally, he's alone, just him and his Lord. If you want to say goodbye to him, you'll have to find him, but it won't be easy. Even I can barely find him, and usually only when I really, really need him."

"He's a very special man," Xanny mused.

"He's been given certain gifts," Fr. Mateo agreed. "He strives to use them wisely. This isn't like your native country, Alexandra. Things still walk the Earth that you couldn't imagine. In places like this, the wilder parts of the world…they walk in the open. We are fortunate that God has given us men like Brother Malachi."

Xanny sighed. "Augusta may come back, to say her farewells," she said. "I know she will want to see Brother Malachi. After what he did for her. But for now, this is goodbye, Father."

"Goodbye, Xanny," he said, giving her a chaste hug and a kiss on her forehead. "Via con Dios."

She chuckled. "That's the first time you've called me by my nickname."

"And?"

"I think you should stick with Alexandra." And they laughed.

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"So you're not going?"

Seth scowled at Alex. It was bad enough that the man was not hungover – he had never seen anyone drink that much alcohol and not wake up either vomiting or with such a splitting headache that he could hardly move. But no, Alex had been awake, although his eyes were a bit bloodshot, with some excuse about how he'd taken a couple of aspirin, drunk a gallon of water, and then chased it with a bottle of beer. Although he didn't look any better sober than he had drunk. Seth had rarely seen anyone as depressed as Alex. And how, upon hearing Seth's idea of a wake back in the States, he had flatly refused the invitation to come.

"I don't think I'd fit in," Alex said. "And don't you think it would be a bit awkward? And what if someone recognizes me? Or you? A hundred times the awkwardness." He was still a bit slurry – maybe he was still a little drunk. "No, it would be best for everyone if I just slipped out quietly. You got your girl back, and I'll…well, Augusta was already here, babbling something about getting me a way back into the States, if that's possible." He sighed. "Better to cut the losses and run, Seth, you know that, isn't it one of the major rules of being a criminal?"

"Yeah, well, I was going to try and give up that career, considering it wasn't exactly successful." Seth sat down in the armchair after pulling it over, closer to the bed, where Alex was perched. "Listen," he said, pressing his hands together flatly, almost as if in prayer, "Xanny is going to need some time to come around. But you need to know that she wasn't going to go back to Marcos."

Alex just looked at him. "How do you know?"

"She told Augusta. Last night. "Seth squirmed, feeling very uncomfortable. The whole soap opera thing was not his scene, and he certainly didn't like talking about the personal business of his ex-girlfriend and his current girlfriend, without their knowledge, let alone permission. "I don't know if I should say anything more, but…if you want her, man, just…don't go running out."

Alex seemed to take in this news with a somber attitude. Then, he said, "So what will that look like, me being there, at this wake? I mean, she told me, Xanny told me why she and Marcos broke up the first time. All these people Marcos knew and worked with didn't like her. Pressure pushed them apart, all of that. So what do I say to her, if these people decide to be rude? I think I'd probably explode, Seth. I'd kill anyone who said one bad word about her in my earshot. And there's going to be a wave of crap coming toward her and probably Augusta both. She's going to be dealing with so much…and I would just be another problem in her path. Just another thing she has to deal with." He shook his head. "The best thing I can do for any of you is just disappear. "

Seth drew a heavy breath, and stood up. He had one final, parting shot. "Way to respect a guy who died saving you," he said.

Alex glared at him, eyes livid with anger. "That is really, really low. Way below the belt."

"That's where I always hit when I'm losing," Seth said, and he left the room.

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"You should have handcuffed him to a chair," Augusta said.

"As much as Xanny would have appreciated _that_," Seth said, fingering the keys to the new car that Augusta had bought, God-knew-how, as he watched her throw the few things she had into a bag. She and Xanny had gone shopping in the later part of the day for some new clothes, and she looked rather sweet, even in her ranting, dressed in a flowing, Mexican-style shirt with a high waist and wide, bell-like sleeves. And whatever had happened between Xanny and Alex, it hadn't made the man stick around any longer than it he had to.

"How could he?" she said, flinging a few pillows for good measure. "How could he just desert her? How could he just leave?"

Seth shrugged. "Maybe he thought he'd just be in Xanny's way."

"How could he think that?" Gus snapped at him. "Didn't he think that maybe she'd need his support?"

"Oh, yeah, support from the guy she was going to dump the dead guy for," Seth murmured, and this made Augusta slow down a bit as she caught his words. "That would have made her all kinds of cheerful."

She scowled at him. "You're on his side. All you men stick together."

Seth shook his head. "I'm not on anyone's side, Gus." He reached out, snaking his arm around her waist, pulling her close to him. She turned, wanting to stay mad, and it only put her flush against him, her back to his front. He kissed her shoulder. "It wasn't exactly the best circumstances that they met, you know."

"Kind of like us," she bit out.

"Yeah, and look how we've turned out." He gave a shrug, shaking her a bit in his grip. "If it's meant to be, it'll work out. Come on. Don't be mad at me, it's not my fault."

She looked up at him, from over her shoulder, and glowered. "Typical," she said.

He tightened his grip, bringing his arm up a bit higher. He had his coat off, and all of his dragon tattoo was showing, streaking down his arm like a living thing. It also happened to be the same arm in which Augusta was encircled. "You're just mad because you couldn't find Brother Malachi."

She let out an exasperated sound, but Seth didn't relax his hold, even as she gave a little jerk. "We looked up and down…I swear to God, Seth, is it possible to disappear? Why does everyone keep disappearing?"

He rested his head in the curve of her neck. "It's okay, Gus. I think I know somewhere else we can look, on our way out."

"You do?" she asked, turning her head a bit to regard him quizzically.

He nodded. "When I was…when we were all looking for you, before. Xanny went to El Tule, Sands was here in San Mateo, and I was sent over to Tres Castillos. A bartender mentioned something about a Padre, but maybe it was Malachi? We can check it out."

"Thanks," she said, and then finally, she turned in his arms, and they were kissing. Then she pressed her cheek against his chest and held him tightly. "I'm tired, Seth. I wish it was over. Why do I feel like it's just starting?"

"It's okay, baby," he told her soothingly. "I'm with you. Whatever happens."

She smiled up at him. Then she patted his shoulder, pushing away from him. "I'll be back," she said. "I've got something I've got to do first."


	30. Time

Disclaimer: Hey, guys, look

Disclaimer: Hey, guys, look! I'm making soup! Seth and El Ray are owned by Tarantino and Rodriguez. Sands is owned by Rodriguez. Blackheart is owned by Marvel Comics. Alex Tully is owned by Fox, although they don't seem to want him. I do own Xanny, Augusta and Marcos. And that's it.

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Thirty: Time

Alex came down the stairs, and stopped in the lobby. He took a breath and looked around. It was quiet, everyone in their rooms – the hot part of the day, when everyone was in siesta. He liked the idea, enormously. The idea of everyone just stopping what they were doing in the middle of the day, let the sugar crash of lunch wash over them, and then party late into the night.

He would like it here in Mexico, he told himself. And it was a big country – he could find someplace to hide, until things blew over. Maybe nobody knew about him, back in the states. Maybe those people he had pissed off when he dropped out of the race – not like he cared, but hey, they had to be pretty influential to jimmy-rig his life like that – would forget. Maybe nobody knew he'd driven a getaway car for a rather bloody bank robbery. He hadn't wanted any of those poor security guards killed. He'd even been a bit glad when one of his partners had been killed during the escape, and not a bit sorry when Seth had tossed the other out the window of that slime-hotel in El Ray. But none of that made a difference to the law. He was an accomplice, he was just as responsible for the deaths of those men as either of his partners. He would serve maximum time in prison if discovered.

And in his own way, he was every bit the hardened criminal Seth was.

He heard a soft footstep, and looked up to see Xanny standing in the wide entrance to the hotel. Framed in the dark doorway, she was just half-way inside, and the full light of the midday sun hit her hair, and it was like blue flame. And then she stepped in, and the light peeled away like a sheet. She looked at him, hesitant.

"I figured you'd be leaving," she said, her tone almost casual, except for the mildest tremor he heard in her voice. "Were you going to say goodbye?"

He had to look down at his feet. He couldn't let himself see the hurt in her eyes, it would break him for sure. "Of course," he lied. Then, cautiously, he let his eyes travel upwards, focusing on a point on the wall just behind her. "Look, I'm sorry about not coming to the wake, but I figured hiding one outlaw would be enough for you."

She nodded, biting her lip. Maybe she understood, maybe she didn't, but she seemed content not to argue the point with him. He quelled a bit at that, and had to bite it back – she wasn't fighting him, but did he want her to? No, it was good like this. Easier.

"Well…goodbye then," she said, and he had to look at her now – her tone was so colorless that he had no idea how to take it – was she angry, was she relieved? Her face was suddenly blank, giving away nothing. She was looking at him, and whatever was in her mind was completely her own business.

Alex opened his mouth to say something, not having any idea what it was, and then she crossed the distance between them, grasped him by the shoulders, and pulled him down so that their lips met. The second her mouth touched his, Alex closed his eyes, and pulled her in, and he had no idea what he was doing – was he kissing her goodbye? The passion he felt from her in the kiss seemed like it, but it was detached also, as if she were doing something she felt she needed to do, and yet hadn't wanted to.

She pulled back first, and he broke his hold on her, looking at her, trying to hide his bewilderment. Her hands were still on his shoulders, and then one went his face, pushing back his hair. She looked at him, for several long moments, a frown creasing her features, but her thoughts otherwise unfathomable. And then, with a small smile, she nodded, let go, and went past him back up the stairs, leaving him to leave with no other obstacle.

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"Do you feel better?"

Xanny looked at Seth sideways. She didn't know what he was talking about at first. They stood by the car that Augusta had gotten them, leaning against it, waiting for her. She was off somewhere – they didn't really know at the moment, but with Augusta it could be anything. A last minute primp in the hotel mirror, or a major piece of business taken care of discreetly on her cellular phone.

It was midday, and hot. The sun blazed through the sky, bleaching it white. Xanny had long since lost her leather jacket and bike chaps, only a pair of blue-jeans and her t-shirt protecting her from the dry Mexican desert breezes. Seth had stripped off his black jacket and had only his traditional vest and wife-beater on underneath. The dragon tattoo blazed brightly against his bronzed arm.

"You going to get rid of that?" she asked him, ignoring his query. He looked at her for a moment, deadpan. "It's pretty telling. I mean, anybody who knows anything about you could spot you ten miles off."

"Yeah, well…" Seth trailed off. "I think Gus might kill me if I do." He fixed his eyes on her again. "What about you, you going to keep the blue hair?"

"Hell yes," she chuckled. They lapsed back into silence for a moment, and then Seth cleared his throat and said:

"You didn't answer my question. Do you feel better, giving Alex the literal kiss off?"

Xanny knew, rationally, that she should be embarrassed that Seth had caught that. Then, she said, "That wasn't what I was doing."

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"I'm not explaining myself to you," she said flatly, looking away. She had no energy to defend herself, and no real driving need. To hell with what Seth Gecko thought. She had been down that road too long ago and had no interest in a trip down that memory lane.

Seth sighed. "You know, Xanny…you and I have been through a lot. Together and…not together. And I get a feeling that we're never going to be completely out of each other's lives." He stared at her evenly again. "If there's anybody in this world that knows me, it's you. And it's only fair that I can make the same claim about you."

"Still," she said, "I wasn't giving him the kiss off. He made his choice. I just had to prove something to myself first."

"Which was?"

She reluctantly answered. "He's not Marcos."

Seth looked a bit surprised, but he didn't pursue it. Silence lapsed for a few more minutes, and then he said, casually, "You know, you've been busting my balls pretty bad since you showed up in El Ray."

To his surprise, Xanny let out a light, short laugh. "That's one way to put it," she said, still grinning.

He returned her grin. It was typical Seth Gecko all the way. "Yeah, well…not that I didn't deserve it. You're right, you know. All of this hell we went through …it _was_ my fault, I guess. I walked into that hive of vampires in the first place. It never would have happened if hadn't been such a stupid, desperate, fucking idiot. After that, it was just a matter of time."

Xanny considered this. "Well, don't go taking all the credit, Gecko," she said. "Gus was mooning over you enough on her own to come walking into your pathetic little plight." She looked at him, rather sternly. "You have to know, you know, that I don't think you're good enough for her. You're a wanted criminal, notorious in reputation and deed. Your troubles have just begun, really, Seth, and you're just going to pull her along with you. But she's not much better, not really. She'll follow you, and she's a big enough girl to know exactly what that means."

Seth absorbed her words, and seemed to take them rather calmly. "Fair enough," he said. "And it's only fair to say that I knew it would never work about between you and Marcos. Opposites may attract, but he was a shark in his world, and you were a shark in yours. You would have devoured each other eventually."

She nodded after a thoughtful pause. "Guess we'll never know now, will we?" she murmured.

"I mean what I said, though," Seth went on. "When you first walked into El Ray. I am sorry. I'm sorry I never listened about Ritchie."

She looked up at him. "Thank you, Seth," she said. "And I'm sorry I've been busting your balls."

"Even though you meant every word," Seth finished for her ruefully.

"Well, yeah, but I didn't have to rub it in," Xanny said, and just then they saw Augusta hurrying back to the car.

"Come on, ramblers, let's get rambling," Seth announced as she reached them. Xanny pulled her bicycle helmet over her head. She was driving back separately on her bike, giving Seth and Augusta their privacy. But Gus was looking at her with a curious smile on her face.

"What's up?" Xanny asked.

"Nothing," Augusta replied, although it was anything but. "You'll find out. Eventually."

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Twenty minutes ago…

It was just him now, Alex thought. Him and his baby. As he approached his black Dodge Charger, thinking of all the two of them had been through in the last several days, he felt an odd sense of relief. It was easier to leave, he realized. Wasn't it wonderful when the right thing was the easier thing? It didn't happen often, that was for sure.

"Coward," came the accusing word, as a hand slapped across the frame of the driver's side door of his car. Alex followed the trail of the slender arm it was attached to, and for a moment, the white hair made him think that Xanny had followed him. He had to remind himself that Xanny was a blue-head now, if that was a word, and when he met the sapphire eyes of one Augusta Charlene Baxton, they were not flashing with the kind of passion Xanny had once gazed upon him with, behind a bar in a dark alley only a few nights ago, but with a spark of barely-suppressed rage.

"You were going to leave without this," she said, and it was odd, in the same breath of accusing him, she was handing him a very expensive passport to freedom. She gave him an envelope, which was open, and he peeked inside. "You're now William Malcolm, native of Oregon."

He stared at her, as he stood beside his car, one hand still on the door handle. He waited, expectantly. "Anything else?" he asked.

"Yes. She's not your wife, Alex."

It took a moment for this to sink in, to really hit home. He took a step back, his hand leaving the door, and she, too, backed away, folding her arms as she leaned against his car. She looked pained as she stood there, waiting for his inevitable explosion.

When he spoke, it was in a low, hissing breath that almost expected a fight. "How do you know about that?"

"You're not the only one that ever drove in a cross-country, secret and illegal road race," she replied in a very dry tone. "You know, in the back of my head, I've been wondering where I've heard your name before."

He could still only gawk at her, eyes narrowed, lips slightly parted.

She continued. "I put it all together when I started to make the calls for your re-entrance into the U.S." Her tone was calmer now, but the anger was still there, in the undertone. "I hear rumors, about the other drivers. That one of them was racing to save his kidnapped wife. Another was trying to get away from an abusive husband. All kinds of stories. When you have money," she added, with a sarcastic smile, "you can grease all kinds of wheels, and not all of them are attached to cars. I didn't know if I believed any of the rumors or not. But I heard that you had dropped out. Alex Tully, formerly a professional NASCAR driver, although you left before you really took off. And when I started making calls, using your name, I found out about your wife. Alex Tully's wife gets kidnapped, and he drops out of the very race he's supposed to run to save her? And then, some months later, he gets tagged for attempted assault and battery and winds up in the clink for a month? And the intended victim of his rage is none other than his now ex-wife?" She shook her head. "Maybe I'm exaggerating, you tell me. She was working with her kidnappers, wasn't she? And when you found out, you popped your cork."

Numb, he nodded. It was different, confessing this stuff to Xanny, and then hearing it from her twin, in very different circumstances.

"Well, Xanny is not like Amy," Augusta said, with an earnestness that made him blink in surprise. "She's not playing you for any angle; she's not setting you up for any great con. She's just a girl who's had a hard life and is trying to get a little peace. And when you realize how _stupid_ you're being—" she pulled out a piece of paper with a telephone number written on it, "you call this number. Tell them Charlie gave it to you. And I'll try to help you undo this stupid thing that you're doing now."

She pushed away from the car, shoved the note into the pocket of his shirt, and turned and left.

Alex stood there for a minute, considering. He looked again at his new identity. He was free. For the first time in a very long time, he was really free.

He looked up, watching Augusta's retreating form. The white hair streaking out behind her like a comet's tail. Xanny had never looked completely right in that white hair, but it fit her sister perfectly. Angelic looking, but striking like an atom bomb.

Then, in the glare of the afternoon sun, Alex Tully, now William Malcolm, started up his car and headed for the border.


	31. Epilogue

Disclaimer: Hey, guys, look

Disclaimer: Hey, guys, look! I'm making soup! Seth and El Ray are owned by Tarantino and Rodriguez. Sands is owned by Rodriguez. Blackheart is owned by Marvel Comics. Alex Tully is owned by Fox, although they don't seem to want him. I do own Xanny, Augusta and Marcos. And that's it.

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Thirty One: Epilogue

Catalina island was a beautiful place. It was relatively quiet, except for the occasional tourist getting a bit out of hand. The locals were not terribly friendly to them, which had bothered Xanny a lot at first. But it was tedious, day after day of people who came only to leave again. It took Xanny awhile to establish herself, but soon the bartender, a rather skinny guy with a red flare in his close-cropped brown hair, at the place she had picked as her favorite, greeted her warmly, and the waitresses were extra careful to get her food to her hot and fast. She tipped well. It helped.

The island was everything she wanted. Isolated, but not cut off. In the morning, the mist rolled in and the sunshine had a deflected glow, giving everything a heavenly quality. At night, all the island lights were on, and the ocean spread out before them, a bowl of stars reflecting the sky.

She had done every single water sport that had been invented, most of them multiple times. Her favorite was parasailing – when you hung off the back of a motorboat strapped to a giant parachute. It billowed out in the wind and you floated, and it was so peaceful and beautiful.

But still, she was lonely.

Her evenings were occupied down in her favorite restaurant, most times, drinking and then walking home after turning down at least one or two offers for an escort home. She had never been harassed – Mickey, the bartender, usually gave most of the would-be suitors the evil eye and they scattered after she'd turned them down. She knew that he wanted to ask her out himself. But she didn't have the heart to endure that, so she made it clear that she was done with love.

And she was. Three strikes, she was out.

Seth, first strike. Obviously that was a doomed relationship, and he was happy with Augusta. She had gone to visit them at the rather large and ornate hacienda that Augusta had purchased. The American newspapers never ended the stink against the Baxton twins, and across the border she was mostly safe. The death of Marcos Ferarre hung in the air over them like a sewage cloud. They did their best not to care, but Augusta, who had been used to being loved, did not sit well with being slandered, and preferred never to look.

Xanny was different. She just didn't care. Marcos was strike two, and the strike that had nearly ended her. His death was an open wound inside her that was only now, six months later, beginning to close. It was strange, how she was so hung up on him now that he was gone. Would she have stuck with her choice to not to back to him, if he'd lived? She guessed it was just true that you only realize what you have once its gone.

And then there was Alex. She did not let herself think about Alex.

Sometimes, she woke up in the morning with a strange ache in her stomach, and she couldn't place its source. It was emotional, that much she knew, somehow manifesting itself in her body. Hormones, maybe, as was the curse of all her kind. It was entirely unpleasant, but it was definitely melancholy. And then, by some point in the middle of the day, Alex would cross her mind, and the ache would flare, and she realized her body was mourning, even though her conscious mind would not acknowledge it.

Maybe she was still holding out hope that one day she would see him again. She doubted it. She had been around the block many times, and she was no fool. Alex had come to her during a tumultuous time, and they had bonded, true enough. But it wasn't enough. Chaos and panic and danger were not things to build a relationship on.

But she missed him. She missed him so much.

Her sister was coming tomorrow. Xanny was excited, like a child awaiting a visit from her best friend. Augusta hadn't come in yet to see her digs, even though Xanny'd been here six months. They talked often, but it wasn't the same as seeing each other. Although there had been many, many nights when Xanny had come home to the empty condominium, and her loneliness had swelled out of her like blood from a wound, and she had had to pick up the phone and make that call, waking Augusta from a dead sleep. Augusta never complained. Xanny needed her, and it was enough.

Augusta was flying into the airport on the top of the island. That was where all the planes came in, and where the plane she herself owned was permanently parked, except on the rare occasion she ventured back to the mainland of California. Maybe in a few years, if she got tired of this place, she would go father West, to Hawaii. She heard it was lovely there, and she had always wanted to go, from as far back as she could remember. Taking flying lessons was one of the smartest, and most time-consuming things she had ever done. She had offered to come get Augusta herself, but Gus had refused, saying it was enough to come get her.

Everyone on Catalina Island drove golf carts. There were very few real cars on the island, except for the trolleys and busses that transported tourists every which way. Everyone's golf cart was personalized, like a real car. And the things were easy to maintain and ran on nearly nothing. Xanny did not like the idea of driving up to the island in her golf cart – the road was steep, and narrow, so she rented one of the few real automobiles on the island. She would hop over there on her golf cart in the morning, and take the Chevy – she was pretty sure it was a Chevy, and Gus would just die when she saw it, as used to expensive sports cars as she was – and trudge on up to get Augusta. And Seth. He was coming too, but Xanny did not mind. In a way, she missed Seth, too. In a way. And he was making Augusta very happy, when Xanny hadn't ever expected them to stay together this long.

Xanny sat at the bar, waiting. Mickey was making her a mint julep, a drink she had recently taken a liking to, and the crowd was drifting aimlessly by outside. Shops were starting to close, and the island lights were glowing brighter, and people were turning to the restaurants and bars for entertainment. Some of them were closing as well, as many things did on the island after nine o'clock. Soon her restaurant would be crowded and noisy, no more or less than she liked. But this morning she had woken up with that pang in her stomach again, and she was considering going home early and going to bed.

Mickey came over to her and put her drink on the bar, on top of the coaster that she always used, that had a cheerful cartoon picture of the beach and the words "Catalina Island" written in large red letters at the bottom. "So it is a five drink night?" he asked her, leaning against the bar, closer to her and away from the building crowd.

"Hope not," she said, removing the fruit he always shoved on the top, and taking a heavy sip from the straw. Lemon and mint assailed her taste buds. Damn, but Mickey could make a very good drink.

"You know, I went parasailing, the other day," he said, folding his arms and leaning down, so that his face was nearly level with hers. "It was amazing. I didn't think something that tame could be that cool."

"Tame?" she chuckled. "It was bumpy getting up there, you have to admit."

"Yeah, but it's not like you're gonna fall out," he scoffed. "Now, surfing. That's a rush."

She shook her head. That was the one sport she wasn't interested in. The thought of standing on a board in the middle of a crashing wave, with rocks not too far away and the potential of the board coming out from under her feet to crash on her head – that did not appeal. Anything else but that, please. "Sorry, Mick, not going to happen."

He gave her a half-smile. He was very good looking, and also very young. She guessed he had to be early twenties, if not just over the twenty-one limit. He was skinny – wiry, to be precise, and it was the term he preferred. She imagined he'd be good in bed. More than once, she had considered just taking him home, but knew it wouldn't go anywhere. It wouldn't be fair to him – not to mention, just plain wrong.

He got the message, on both levels. He gave her a little nod, saw the waitress at the other end waving a drink order between two fingers, and moved off, giving her the usual instruction to call him if she needed anything else.

It was too bad, really. Under different circumstances, she would be completely flattered by attention from someone like Mickey. But right now…it was like a throbbing, somewhere in the middle of her body. It gave continuous starts and shudders at the thought of being romantic with someone, kissing them, walking with them along the beach and talking the usual nonsense that lovers talked about.

She finished her mint julep, left a ten, and slipped out of the bar. She didn't want to drink too much – she drank too much already. She never got more than tipsy, and even when she felt the comforting buzz coming on, she called off her own limit. She stepped outside, which was pretty quiet by now, as everyone was inside, only a few strays wandering here and there, couples, tourists, and a single ice-cream stand that was fifteen minutes away from closing.

She wandered in and ordered a scoop of butter pecan. It was homemade, and wonderful. The night was cool, but she went and sat on the moist beach anyway, watching the sailboats and the flickering of the lighthouse. The casino down the road was active tonight – not a gambling house, but an old fashioned casino, which meant it was used as a multi-purpose entertainment house, sporting dances and parties, private and public, and all the movies shown on Catalina Island were always screened there. There was a wedding going on – she had caught a glimpse of the bride and groom going by a few hours ago, on a white golf card with cans strung behind it, honking the horn and displaying the "Just Married" banner. She knew the family, but not well – Xanny was money, and everyone knew her somehow, from somewhere. She considered going down there, seeing if the party had gone on long enough for a straggler in a pair of jeans to slip in unnoticed. She discarded the idea quickly.

Getting up, she dusted herself off and decided to just honor her first urging and go back home. As she passed by her bar, Mickey came out to lean in the doorframe, calling to her. Worried she had forgotten something, she went back, arching an eyebrow in inquisition.

"Someone was looking for you," Mickey said. "I didn't recognize him, he wasn't a local. A tourist, had to be."

Her curiosity was piqued. "What did he look like?"

"Tall guy, broad, big—" Mickey made a outward curving motion with both arms together to indicate girth. It was funny – Mickey's wiry frame couldn't begin to compete with Alex's…with Alex's….

"—brown hair, kind of moppy. Asked if I knew a woman named Xanny. I said I knew a lot of women, I didn't know who this guy was from Adam, but he mentioned I'd recognize you in a second, with your blue hair. Said he knew you from a place called El Ray, and that he was looking for you."

Her heart started to pound. She was sure Mickey could hear it. "Did he say what is name was?" It could be Seth. He and Augusta could have miscalculated and wound up on Catalina a day early, and he was big, broad shouldered, and maybe he'd let his hair grow out…although she'd seen Seth with his hair grown out and she would never have described it as moppy.

"Funny. It was Alex. Alex and Alexandra. I know you don't like to be called that but you have to admit, it's kind of funny. You know this guy?"

"Yeah, I know him." How could she sound so calm? She could barely breathe at this moment. Had she left the bar two minutes before Alex had come in, looking for her? How could she have missed him like that? Was God in a cruel mood today or something? "Did you see where he went?"

"Up the street, I guess, I mean, he went that way." Mickey pointed. "I didn't see you slip out, and I wasn't sure, I mean…well, you know—"

"Yeah, it's okay, Mickey, it's fine. I know him. If you see him again, can you, can you just—" She was turning on her heel, she didn't know what the hell she was going to do, run around the island like a crazy woman, get herself arrested for disturbing the peace? The Catalina cops didn't like troublemakers, not at all, no matter how much money she had. "Can you find out where he's staying, anything, so I can track him down?"

Mickey was frowning at her. "Yeah, sure, Xanny, no problem." He seemed crestfallen, but willing to help. "You want me to give him your address?"

"That'd be fine." She was anxious to get away now, and waving goodbye quickly, she headed up the winding street until she was in her little driveway. She hopped into her golf cart, which she had decorated with Harley Davidson decals, her throw-back to her days as a biker, and started it up. Her hands were shaking, she could barely steer herself properly.

Trying hard not to go too fast, she started to drive around the island, first hitting the main part, where no doubt Alex was still going in and out, looking for her. He had come in to talk to Mickey, hadn't he? So he had to be looking elsewhere, too.

Three turns told her that he wasn't anywhere she could see. She stuck her head inside several places, and had a heart attack every time someone called her name, thinking it was him. Then she swung out, thinking maybe he had spotted her down by the beach, and was looking there. But still nothing.

It had to have taken an hour to scour the immediate town. Xanny was heartbroken. Alex had come and she wasn't there – instead she'd been stuffing her face with ice cream and feeling sorry for herself. She blamed herself, and then argued against it, as it couldn't be her fault, she couldn't have known, she wasn't psychic.

Finally, she pulled back where she had started, and parked her golf cart. She kicked at its wheels, frustrated and depressed, and turned to head back into the bar. She was going to go back in and get drunk. She was going to get raging drunk, and pass out, and maybe that would calm her frantic nerves—

She walked right into someone. Face into their chest, she put her arms out, grasping at forearms to push herself back. It was a man, that much she had been able to sense, and for a second she felt a flare of fear – it was a large man, and she was out of fighting practice, and it was rather quiet where she was right now—

"Xanny?" came Alex's voice, and Xanny had to step to the side so that a streetlight could cross his face. She stared up at him, momentarily paralyzed. Her jaw was hanging open.

Finally, coming to herself, she blinked and said, "Alex?"

"Yeah," he replied, pushing down the hood of the sweatshirt he was wearing. His moppy hair fluttered in the sea breeze. "How…uh…how are you?"

"How do you think I am?" she asked, not realizing what she was saying. The words were a bit harsh-sounding, although she hadn't meant them that way – she didn't know how she was doing, she couldn't think past the frozen joy in her head that Alex was here, he was in front of her, and that awful pang was dissolving back into the ether from whence it came.

He pulled back a bit, his chin dipping down. "Well, uh… I was looking for you. Your sister told me you were here."

"My…my sister? You spoke to Gus? When?"

"Few days ago," Alex said. "She gave me this number." She heard the crinkle of paper in his pocket, where his hand was stuffed. "Told me to call it when I'd come to my senses. I don't know…I haven't been able to stop thinking about you, not once in all these months, and I don't know what I was thinking… coming here. I guess I just wanted to see if you…if you'd been thinking about me, too." He looked up, his large blue eyes hopeful. "I guess all this sounded a lot better in my head, but it's hard to think, standing here, looking at you."

She let out a sound that was meant to be a laugh. It was hard for _him_? She couldn't think at all, not at all, standing here staring at him. And then, as if something inside her had taken control, she stepped forward, and put her arms around his shoulders, and pulled him to her, wrapping her arms around his neck, almost hard enough to strangle him.

At first, in his shock, he did not reciprocate. And then, he grasped her arms, pulling them away from his windpipe, and she opened her mouth to apologize, but he was kissing her, his hands on either side of her face, and she was suddenly laughing and crying and kissing him back.

After a long time, he looked down at her, smiling. "I take it you're happy to see me?"

She could only nod. The lump of happiness in her throat prevented her from speaking.

"I'm sorry…that I took so long," he said, his eyes large and remorseful.

"Don't care anymore," she said, snuggling her arms underneath his, wrapping herself in his warmth. "You're here now."

"I am," he agreed, holding her tightly. "Do you want me to stay?"

"Only forever," she sighed against him. After a contented pause, she added, "And remind me to kill my sister."

"Kill her?" Alex chuckled and it vibrated against her. "Why do you want to do that?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I say kill? I meant kiss. Or both. Probably both."

Alex laughed again, tangling his fingers deep into her hair. "I'm glad it's still blue," he said. "I was counting on it to help me find you."

"Oh yeah, it'll be blue. As long as there is hair on my head, it'll be blue."

"Really? Because I was wondering what you'd look like in purple."

She gave him a dirty look. "Funny. You're a really funny guy." But she held tightly to him, not even wanting room to breathe. She only wanted to breathe _him_, to smell him and touch him and taste him, until she died.

"I have my moments," he said, still stroking her hair, and then her back. "I'm in love with you, Xanny," he said. "I don't know what that means anymore, but…I want to find out. I want to find out with you."

She was going to start crying again, and she snuffled against his chest. "I love you too, Alex. And I want to be worth it to you."

"Oh, God," he breathed, pulling her closer, it if were possible. "God, Xanny… you're worth it. You're worth so much more than you know."

And it dissolved, until they were two more lovers on the beach, talking sweet nothing and speaking a language only lovers understand. The next morning, he went up with her to the "Airport In The Sky," as it was known, and Augusta and Seth saw them together, and Gus only smiled knowingly at her twin, who did threaten to kill her several times over the next couple of weeks. Seth echoed the sentiment, having been left out of the loop and not appreciating it.

So the four of them were reunited, calm and happy and content, and Augusta announced that she and Seth were engaged, and Xanny smiled and hugged her sister, although her earlier concerns were not abated.

"What, you think he's going to run off and start robbing banks again?" Alex asked her one morning, as they sat in the public square, when the bakeries and eateries were just opening for breakfast, and the shore around them had that heavenly quality she loved so much.

She shrugged. "I'm more worried he might try and take her with him, but yeah," she said with a sigh. She munched at her croissant and sipped her coffee.

Alex held her hand in his, fingers entwined in hers. "Well…I wouldn't worry about it. If they're really interested in thrills, I know of this top secret, illegal cross-country road race they can enter."

Xanny laughed and almost choked on her coffee. "Oh, shut up," she admonished him. "Just shut up!"

He was smiling at her, that broad, toothy smile that she loved more than the ethereal glow of the beach and the blue of the sky put together. "So what _do_ you do around here for thrills, anyway?" he said, glancing around at the big blue ocean.

"Ever tried parasailing?" she asked.

End


End file.
